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THE WOMAN HATER 


BT 

JOHN ALEXANDER HUGH CAMERON 

AUTHOR OP "A COLONEL FROM WYOMING" 


NEW YORK 

CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCUTION PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 


86 BARCLAY STREET 




Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year one thousand 
nine hundred and twelve, by John Alexander Hugh Cameron, 
in the OfHce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 1912. 


Copyright, Canada, 1912, by John Alexander Hugh Cameron. 


International copyright secured. All rights reserved. 


TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE 


HON. DUNCAN CAMERON FRASER, LL.D., D.C.L., 

Lieutenant- Governor of Nova Scotia, 


NOBLE-HEARTED AND BELOVED, 

THIS LITTLE WORK IS AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED 


BY THE AUTHOR 



PREFACE 


If your curiosity has been aroused by the title 
of this little book, satisfy that curiosity by read- 
ing the little book through. It cannot do you any 
harm, and there is a possibility that it may do you 
some good. 

Montreal, 

September 21, 1912. 


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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. The Backwoods University 9 

II. “Too Much Pot” 31 

III. Drawn Into the Game 50 

IV. “Social Claws” 57 

V. “Seals” 35 

VI. “Swell Times in Bio Frog Pond ” 102 

VII. The Philosophy op Style 118 

VIII. Those Lessons 135 

IX. A Tragedy Averted 152 

X. That Infamous Door 168 

XI. The Philosophy of Thirst.. 187 

XII. Mamie and Dawn 205 

XIII. The Salmon Crank 226 

XIV. “The Old Call op the Sea” 244 

XV. High Life 262 

XVI. The Home Stretch..., 279 


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THE WOMAN HATER 


CHAPTER L 

THE BACKWOODS UNIVERSITY. 

At best Bill Bones was long and lean, but 
the day he tottered back into the editorial 
rooms of The 'New York Thunderer, after his 
discharge from Bellevue Hospital, where he 
lay seriously ill with typhoid for several 
weeks, he looked unusually long, lean, emaci- 
ated, cadaverous: his clothes seemed three 
sizes too large for him; his bright, piercing, 
dark-blue eyes were popping out of his head; 
and the skin of his face seemed to be 
stretched to the bursting point over a^ long, 
aquiline nose which looked longer and 
sharper than usual. 

Bones was as clever a reporter as there 
was in New York. He was thirty-three years 
of age, and had served over sixteen years 
on various journals throughout the United 
9 


10 


The Woman Hater 


States. He was no puppy, with a frisk, and 
a bound, and a bark; he was a full-grown 
bloodhound with an unerring scent for news. 

Send Bill Bones,’’ a leading editor once 
remarked, when some problem of unusual 
interest awaited solution. If Bill Bones 
doesn’t come back with news, it’s because 
there’s none going. Why, if Bill can’t see 
through the crack under the door, or through 
the keyhole, he’ll look right through the wall, 
whether it be of brick or of wood. Send 
Bill.” 

Bill could be sent anywhere now. He was 
almost thin enough to crawl through the 
crack under a door, or to enter a room by a 
keyhole. The poor fellow was hot strong 
enough to go back to work, but his pockets 
were empty, and there was a wolf, lean like 
himself, howling at the door. 

Sitting at his desk, he took from his coat 
pocket a large handkerchief with which he 
mopped up the cold beads of perspiration 
that stood out on his forehead. He was 
deathly pale; his eyes ached, and everything 
about him seemed to be going around. The 
editor sent for him as soon as he heard he 
was back, and Bones half staggered into the 
sanctum of his chief. 

See here, Bill,” protested the kind- 


The Backwoods University 11 

hearted editor-in-chief, you must not come 
back to work so soon. It isn’t fair. You 
must rest.” 

Bones turned his empty pockets inside out. 

The editor understood, and taking a 
cheque-book from his desk, wrote out a 
cheque for five hundred dollars. 

Here, Bones,” he said, handing Bill the 
money. “ You are too useful a man to run 
any risks. Take a couple of months off. Go 
north where it’s cool. Get away from the 
click of the telegraph instrument, the rattle 
of the typewriter, the noise of the press^ and 
the smell of ink — get away from the bustle 
and dust of the city. Go up to Cape Breton, 
and when you are feeling stronger, if you 
come across anything of interest up there, 
you might dash off a few paragraphs for us. 
Good-bye, now, old boy, and take the best 
possible care of yourself.” 

Thank you,” said Bones^ who was never 
effusive. I greatly appreciate your kind- 
ness.” 

One evening, four days later, a tall, lean- 
looking man stepped off the train at Iona, 
Cape Breton, where he took the little steamer 
Neptune for far-famed Baddeck. His face 
was thin and pale, his eyes were bright and 
blue, his nose was long and sharp; it was 


12 


The Woman Hater 


Bones, of The Thunderer — Bill Bones, New 
York. 

Bones was not in humour for appreciating 
scenery, no matter how beautiful. He had a 
typhoid appetite, and longed for his supper; 
but an hour later, when the Neptune reached 
the wharf at Baddeck, another instinct took 
possession of him — the reporter’s undying 
instinct for news. 

With the unerring scent of an old news- 
paper bloodhound, he sniffed a short, thick- 
set man, with a closely-cropped, grizzly 
beard, who was in charge of a trim little 
steam yacht — an old salt with a kindly, good- 
natured, sun-browned face — one of the most 
interesting characters he had ever met — and 
he forgot all about his supper. 

“Who’s that?” he asked eagerly, pointing 
to the man standing in the wheelhouse of the 
Lady Eileen, 

“ That’s Captain Roderick,” was the 
answer. 

“ I must meet him,” he said, making his 
way through a group of loiterers to where the 
yacht was tied. 

“ Captain Roderick ! ” he called out to the 
man in the wheelhouse. 

“ You’ve certainly got the advantage of 
me/’ said the sea-dog. 


The Backwoods University 13 

I’m Bones, of The Thunderer— BiW Bones, 
New York.” 

Captain Roderick grasped the cold, skinny 
hand extended him. 

Bill,” he laughed, looking at The 
Thunderer’s long, aquiline nose; “ Bones,” he 
added, with a chuckle, taking a quick glance 
all over the lean, emaciated, bony specimen 
of humanity before him. “ No doubt! ” 

Bones laughed, if the parting of thin lips 
and the bending in of the tip of a long nose 
can be called laughing. 

How long will you be in port. Captain? ” 

Until noon to-morrow.” 

May I call to see you again? ” 

Certainly,” said the sea-dog. Come any 
time.” 

Bones left for the Fairview Hotel. His 
typhoid appetite had been gnawing all the 
while. He ate a hearty supper, and im- 
mediately returned to the yacht. A bottle 
of Scotch whiskey and a box of Havana 
cigars forthwith made their appearance, and 
The Thunderer’s convalescent began to feel 
very much at home. He found something 
thoroughly refreshing about this shrewd, 
blunt Scotchman — ^this typical descendant 
of those hardy pioneers who crossed the 
Atlantic to Cape Breton over fourscore years 


14 


The Woman Hater 


before, making homes for themselves in path- 
less forests of birch and spruce and maple — 
this rugged, full-blooded representative of 
those brave Scottish Highlanders, with their 
undying love for deep, sunless glens, and 
wild, storm-swept mountains — this quaint, 
picturesque sea-dog, with a heart overflow- 
ing with kindness, yet possessing much of 
that peculiar wildness and fierceness and 
lawlessness which must have come with the 
blood, as it flowed down through the cen- 
turies from the remnant of the great Celtic 
race, unconquered and untouched by Koman 
or Saxon or Danish invasion. 

As a matter of course. The Thunderer^s irre- 
pressible had made enquiries at the hotel 
concerning Captain Roderick, and was in- 
formed that the smuggler was a very active 
politician. It was only natural, therefore, 
that the reporter should bring up the subject 
of politics. 

“ They tell me you are up to your eyes in 
politics. Captain,” said Bones, after sharpen- 
ing his pencil and getting out his note-book. 
“ How in the world did this happen? ” 

‘‘How?” repeated the smuggler. “Wait 
till I tell you how my Scotch fightin’ blood 
got boilin’, and then you’ll know. Cape 
Breton’s head became swelled with the Back- 


[Che Backwoods tFniversity 15 

woods University craze; fact, the stomach 
of the whole province became more or less 
congested with it. A Harvard, or a Yale, or 
a Johns Hop-skins, at uvery cross-roads 
throughout the length and breadth of Nova 
Scotia, was rather strong diet for the poor, 
misfortunate Land of the Mayflower. 

‘ Consolidate the schools,’ the dull, gray 
harbingers of the new dawn were shoutin’. 
‘ Consolidate the rural schools, you pilgrims 
of ignorance,’ they kept sayin’. ^ The shadow 
of intellectual darkness has too long been 
flappin’ its dusky wings over such prolific, 
intellectual soil. Just let yourself loose,’ 
they says, ‘ and the revival of learnin’ in- 
augurated in this glorious land will rise up 
and spill over the whole surroundin’ country.’ 

“ ‘ How’ll you do it? ’ some poor, misguided 
pilgrims had the audacity to ask. 

a i Why,’ they says, ^ we’ll convert two, 
four, six, or eight rural school-sections into 
one magnificent university campus; we’ll pro- 
vide up-to-date school accommodation; we’ll 
consolidate the revenues used in the up-keep 
of those mean little cabins you have at pres- 
ent; we’ll tap the inexhaustible revenue fund 
of the province,’ they says, ^ and we’ll draw 
freely therefrom the necessary money to in- 
vest in the glorious experiment.’ 


16 


The Woman Hater 


They might have added, too^ Bones, and 
perhaps they did under their breath, that 
they^d draw largely upon the uverlastin’ 
credulity of the people. 

“ The next question to come up was the 
transportation of the poor children of the 
exiles of the Land o’ the Heather from the 
various points of any given ten-mile uni- 
versity campus to the glorious institution it- 
self. How was this to be done? 

“ ^ By vans,’ was the prompt reply. ^ In 
summer,’ they says, ^ the children that are 
wheat will be sardined with the children that 
are cockle into a summer-van with a top 
sufficient to cut off the blue of our matchless 
heavens, and with adjustable side-curtains 
that will be sufficient either to keep out the 
humidity of the atmosphere or to protect the 
wheat and the cockle from the prevailin’ 
zephyrs ; and in winter,’ they says, ‘ the very 
sight of the winter-van would be sufficient to 
cure chronic rheumatism.’ 

^ Just reflect/ they says, ‘ on the unspeak- 
able privilege of seein’ the talented children 
of this glorious country baskin’ in the learn- 
in’ of the laboratories that will be flung wide 
open; of perceivin’ them swimmin’ in the ex- 
tensive seas of domestic and mechanical 
science; nay, more,’ they says, ^ of beholdin’ 


The Backwoods University 17 

them flappin’ their uncultured pinions on the 
dizzy heights of culture. All these things 
will come to pass/ they says, ‘ and more,’ 
they says. 

“ That sort of cacklin’ was goin’ on all over 
the province. In due course it reached the 
peaceful surroundings of Big Frog Pond, one 
day about the first of June, and had the effect 
of ticklin’ the wool in the ears of some of our 
poor, misguided people. So, between a few 
of the aristocrats of Bogville, Dogdale, Hog- 
ville, and Pigdale, with highly developed pet- 
lamb proclivities for buttin’ in, and some of 
the rural aristocrats around Big Frog Pond 
and Little Frog Pond, with an ambition to 
see our Scotch progeny lookin’ like the chil- 
drens’ page in the catalogue of a depart- 
mental store after cornin’ to life, a petition 
was got up which prayed to the District 
School Board for the establishment of a 
Backwoods University, a veritable Johns 
Hop-skins, on the wind-swept outskirts of Big 
Frog Pond, by consolidatin’ the school sec- 
tions of Big Frog Pond, Little Frog Pond, 
Spruceville, and Juniperville, a district ten 
miles square. 

The iniquitous prayer of the bob-tailed 
minority was granted, despite the efforts of 
the level-headed majority who prayed long 


18 


The Woman Hater 


and loud in a counter-petition, settin’ forth 
reasons why the peaceful^ weak-eyed citizens 
livin’ along the shores of the world-famous 
Bras d’Or Lakes should not be suddenly 
ushered into the dazzlin’ light of the new day 
that was dawnin’. 

“ Jo For Short was one of those who 
prayed for the new civilization: Jo Joey 
Joseph Jo — heaven bless Cape Breton for 
the nicknames — howled piously against it. 
The Widow Billie the Gentleman stood by 
the old order of things, while progressive 
Lame Dougald of Paris Green fame, from 
Little Frog Pond, called aloud to the very 
frogs to presage by a new line of croakin’ 
the glories of that uver blessed day, when 
floods of new light should gild the educa- 
tional hilltops of our poor, misfortunate 
country. 

Why, my dear Bones, even old Angus the 
Razor began bearin’ strange sounds and 
seein’ strange things. The old reprobate! 
His neck was specially constructed for the 
gallows’ rope. 

“ The old rascal saw children that were 
already duvils piled into movin’ vans with 
children who weren’t quite duvils yet. He 
even saw a great building on the outskirts of 
Big Frog Pond which was frequented by peo- 


The Backwoods University 


19 


pie whose shoulders were draped with gowns 
like the lawyers wear, and whose heads were 
decorated with quare-shaped hats. Nay, 
more, Bill Bones, the very depths of his soul 
were stirred with the new, joy-provokin’ cry 
of 


Back— Back— Back 
Woods— woods— woods 
UNIVERSITY. 

The excitement was intense. The whole 
country for miles around was in a panic, for 
the ruthless District School Board was bent 
on blowin’ the very trumpets of the heralds 
of the new day. There was no time for delay. 
What? Stop the wooden wheels of the 
golden chariot of progress. Shame, ye poor, 
misguided pilgrims of night! 

“Such was the state of affairs that pre- 
sented itself on my return to Big Frog Pond, 
one sad September evening, for no sooner had 
I tooted the whistle of the Lady Eileen, nine 
or ten miles away, than the people began 
gatherin’ at the shore to meet me. 

“ ‘ Captain Roderick is cornin’,’ says one. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ says another, ^ the old duvil will 
see a way out of this difficulty, if there is 
such a thing this side the bottojnless pits/ 


20 


The Woman Hater 


And I wish to say right here, Bones, that 
there was joy in Big Frog Pond when this 
prodigal returned. 

^ Help us out,’ they all seemed to howl 
together. ‘ In the name of liberty, in the 
name of justice, old and well-know’d, help 
the sons and daughters of the exiles of the 
Land o’ the Heather,’ they says. 

“ ^ Are the children or the children’s chil- 
dren of those hardy pioneers who left the 
misty land of their birth to have a Back- 
woods University inflicted upon them? 

^ Are the descendants of those whose 
throats were attuned to the singin’ of Bonnie 
Prince Charlie and 8 cots Wha Hae to be 
coerced into singin’ Old Grimes is dead, that 
good old man, and Polly-'wolly-doodle all the day? 

“ ^ Is the pure air of heaven that has been 
floatin’ around this Arm of Gold for centuries 
to be desecrated with claptrap about Solo- 
mon Levi’s ulsterettes and Johnny Schmo- 
ker’s trombone and his cymbal? 

‘ Are we to be eternally depressed with 
that sad anthem about the mis fortunate girl 
with the box of paints, who sucked the brush, 
after indulgin’ her old and well-know’d pro- 
clivity for heightenin’ the colour of her 
cheeks, and then joined the saints?’ they 
says. 


The Backwoods University 21 

Heaven protect us from college yells/ 
they says; ‘from the foot-ball devotee, and 
from the long-hair crank!’’’ 

“ Truly, Bones, old chap, it was a pitiful 
sight to see those poor duvils, clad in their 
honest homespun, cryin’ out against the 
dazzlin’ light of the new dawn. My heart 
was touched; fact, I was touched right down 
through the soles of my boots to the very 
timber in the Big Frog Pond wharf. 

“ ‘ Say no more,’ I says to them. ‘ My back 
has reached its highest pinnacle, and I am 
overflowin’ with indignation to the bu’stin’ 
point. ‘ Say no more,’ I says, steppin’ aboard 
the Lady Eileen, and enterin’ this very wheel- 
house, I shouted : ‘ Pull in the gang plank, 
and cast off those lines.’ Then, ringin’ Full 
speed ahead to the engineer, I put the helm 
hard to port, and this old girl flew away from 
that wharf as if she were shot out of a gun. 

“ There was no time to be lost. The special 
annual meetin’ of the ratepayers for the ap- 
pointment of a university board of trustees 
was to come off inside of twenty-four hours, 
so I made straightway for Sydney, arrivin’ 
there some time durin’ the night. 

“ The very next morning I called at the 
Federal Bank and drew out one thousand 
dollars in five-dollar bills. I then made a 


22 


The Woman Hater 


bee-line for Lawyer Dudley's apartments in 
the Murphy Block. 

“ The outer office was in charge of a purty 
stenographer, but that is make no difference; 
I tramped all over her feet in my anxiety 
to place the case in the capacious hands of 
Lawyer Dudley himself. 

I was all out of breath. I slammed the 
door shut, and struck Lawyer Dudley's desk 
for the sake of emphasis, spillin' his books 
and papers all over the floor. I then stated 
the facts of the case. 

^ Has the action of the District School 
Board been ratifled by the Council of Public 
Obstruction?' he says, the Council of Public 
Obstruction bein' the court of last appeal. 

^ Yes,' I says. 

^ Wal,' he says, ^you can do nothing but 
submit,' he says, whereupon I took out two 
hundred flve-dollar bills and shook them in 
his face. 

“ I was at a white heat. ^ Is this British 
justice? ' I hissed at him. ^ Is this what our 
forefathers fought, bled, and died for?' I 
says. ‘ Is it possible in this glorious twen- 
tieth century that a minority can coerce a 
majority? ' I says. ‘ Will you do some fight- 
in', you poor, misfortunate disciple of Satan,' 
I says, ^ providin' you are well paid? ’ I says. 


The Backwoods University 23 

‘ What do you want me to do? ’ he says. 

“ ‘ Wal/ I says, ^ I am goin’ to commit the 
crime of theft,’ I says. ‘ I am goin’ to steal 
the college campus,’ I says, ‘ makin’ uvery 
man of the majority a principal in the 
horrible crime,’ I says. And as I uttered 
those turrible words. Bones, I could see my- 
self on the way to St. Jean Penitentiary, ac- 
companied by Jo Joey Joseph Jo and ninety 
or a hundred other nicknamed villains from 
around Big Frog Pond, branded like myself 
with the scarlet crime of stealin’ the sphere 
of influence of the Backwoods University of 
Big Frog Pond. 

‘ How are you goin’ to commit such a 
grave misdemeanor? ’ says the lawyer. 

“^How?’ I says. ‘Stop till Pll tell you,’ 
I says. ‘ When the meetin’ comes off/ I says, 
‘we’ll appoint university trustees who will 
not act, and then we’ll pass a sassy resolu- 
tion referrin’ the university question back to 
the District School Board for reconsidera- 
tion,’ I says. ‘ Come on with your law-book 
now,’ I says. 

“ Lawyer Dudley began to get intoxicated 
with the game. His eyes flashed fire, his 
nostrils dilated, and the very hair on his head 
stood at attention. He arose from his chair 
to the occasion, slowly unfoldin’ his six feet 


24 


The Woman Hater 


three inches of ungainly lengthy and he 
struck the desk with the result that a bottle 
of red writin’ -fluid was spilt all over the im- 
mediate vicinity. I could see that it was 
blood he was after by the way he looked at 
the ink. 

^ How long/ he says, ^ will it take you 
to return to the scene of battle?’ he says. 

^ I have my private yacht heavin’ at 
anchor on the broad bosom of Sydney 
Harbour/ I says, ^ and long before the dusky 
curtains of night will crawl over the last day 
of the old order of things,’ I says, ^ I’ll land 
you safely on the Backwoods University 
campus where you can reconnoitre the 
enemy’s position and map out your plan of 
campaign while pickin’ gum among the tall 
timbers that grow in the glorious outskirts of 
Big Frog Pond,’ I says. 

“ ^ All right/ he says, and we made a bee- 
line for the yacht. 

When we reached Big Frog Pond, we sent 
messengers out into the realms of darkness 
to notify the poor, misguided pilgrims of 
night to be present at the meetin’ ; and, be it 
said to their eternal credit, they showed up 
to a man. 

Among those who came was Jo For 
Short, a character well-know’d around Big 


The Backwoods University 25 

Frog Pond. This poor misfortunate was 
clamorin’ for more light — for the new dawn. 

“ ^ Just think,’ he says, ^ on the glories of 
the new civilization as it will ooze from the 
Backwoods University of Big Frog Pond/ he 
says; ‘when our children and our children’s 
children will be able to speak of the very 
birds of the air and the very flowers and 
fruits of the earth in the old and well-know’d 
slang of Kickero,’ he says. 

“ ‘ Go ’way with your nonsense, Jo For 
Short,’ I says. ‘ The slang of Kickero is 
liable to get mixed up a bit on the tongues of 
the children of the exiles of the Land o’ the 
Heather with their old and well-know’d pro- 
clivity for nicknames,’ I says. 

“ ‘ How? ’ he says. 

“ ‘ Oh,’ I says, ‘ the first time you will pass 
the Backwoods University with a load of 
timber,’ I says, ‘you are likely to provoke 
such comment as: There goes Jo For Short 
all the ways from Juniperville, with a load of 
Jo-For-Short Juniperus, which will nuver pass 
inspection owin’ to the fact that it is all per- 
forated by the mischievous Picoides Areticus, 
commonly know’d as the woodpecker. Who’s 
all right? Jo For Short’s all right. Then 
your horse will be nearly scared to death,’ I 
says, ‘ with some such glorious refrain as 


26 


The Woman Hater 


“ ‘ Snick, snack, snort ; Jo For Short : 
Chancellor of the Backwoods 
UNI-VERS-ITYJ 

Wal — ^that very harmless bit of comment 
knocked some of the rainbow tints out of Jo 
For ShorFs university enthusiasm; it even 
had the effect of makin^ the poor duvil vote 
for the three trustees who were carried with 
handsome majorities, and for the sassy 
resolution which flung the university ques- 
tion back into the face of the District School 
Board which had the audacity to ask the 
trustees to act. 

‘ Act^ trustees,’ they says ; ‘ act at onct or 
you will nuver hear the joyous strains of 
Mushy mushy mush tu-ra-U-addy reverberatin’ 
around the residential suburbs of Big Frog 
Pond.’ 

‘ Act, you enemies of progress,’ says the 
Inspector of Schools for the District. 

“ ‘ Act, you diabolical representatives of a 
recalcitrant majority,’ says the university 
promoters. 

^ Come on with the clumsy provisions of 
The Education Acty Chapter 52 y Revised Statutes 
of Nova Scotiay flrst and followin’ verses,’ says 
sassy Lawyer Dudley on behalf of the pil- 
grims of night.” 


The Backwoods University 27 

^^What did you fellows do at the meet- 
ing? asked The Thunderer. 

“Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, ‘‘we con- 
gregated in the Big Frog Pond schoolhouse, 
which was filled to overfiowin^ with those 
who were kickin^ against the light, or against 
more light, for some of the pilgrims were 
after comin^ to the conclusion that they had 
all the intellectual kerosene oil they could 
carry. But that is make no difference. Old 
Donald the Duvil was appointed chairman of 
the meeting; Widow Billie the Gentleman’s 
son, secretary pro tern. Then the fun began. 

“ ‘ I move that our worthy chairman, 
Donald — Donald the Old Scratch — be one of 
the trustees,’ says a pilgrim of night, and the 
motion was carried with a bang; then, some 
one moved Monkey-wrench Jo into office, big 
feet and all, amid uproarious laughter; and 
then. Hard-tack Donald, quiet, crafty, and 
stubborn, was added to the university board 
— a more recalcitrant aggregation of kickers 
you couldn’t find this side of the lower 
regions ! Move them? You might as well try 
to move the Bras d’Or Lakes. 

“ ‘ What next? ’ says old Donald the Duvil. 

“ ‘ A motion,’ says Jo For Short. ‘ Re- 
solved,’ he says, ‘ that this here diabolical 
Backwoods University question be thro wed 


28 


The Woman Hater 


back in the teeth of the District School 
Board for reconsideration/ he says. 

Of course, there was a laugh all around 
when Jo For Short apostatized from the 
Backwoods University faith, and I was given 
full credit for his perversion.” 

What was done then? ” asked Bones. 

“ We became outlaws,” the smuggler 
answered. “We simply defied what Lawyer 
Dudley called the clumsy provisions of The 
Education Act, which had to be amended to 
cover our case; and out of my own pocket I 
paid Bobbie Widow Billie the Gentleman, 
B. A., for teachin’ the Big Frog Pond School, 
and three other teachers for teachin’ the 
three other schools in question, which were 
likewise outside the pale.” 

“How did the matter end. Captain?” 

“ Next June,” the sea-dog explained, “ the 
District School Board, settin’ as the District 
School Plank — it had thickened considerably 
since it met the year before — had the 
audacity to restore the old order of things, 
which was duly ratified by the Council of 
Public Destruction, a nickname well merited 
for its diabolical action in pushin’ back into 
oblivion the veritable Johns Hop-skins those 
university promoters had been tryin’ to bring 
into life.” 


The Backwoods University 29 

But what had this to do with your goin’ 
into provincial politics?” asked the puzzled 
newspaper man. 

“ It simply stirred up the old Scotch fight- 
in’ blood that came pourin’ down the cen- 
turies from the days of Wallace and Bruce,” 
the sea-dog answered. 

I suppose if that Backwoods University 
deal had gone through. Captain, Jo For Short 
would cut quite an interesting figure as 
Chancellor,” said The New York Thunderer, 

“ He would,” the smuggler admitted. Jo 
For Short would certainly shine as Chancel- 
lor Emeritus of the Backwoods University of 
Big Frog Pond.” 

How so?” asked Bones. 

Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, he would be 
hatchin’ out some brilliant idea all durin’ his 
term of office, and then, when the time for 
honourable retirement should come, he’d 
simply explode.” 

Along what lines do Jo For Short’s 
talents run. Captain?” 

Jo For Short is a man of parts,” chuckled 
the sea-dog, but he’s particularly a man of 
thirst, which, bein’ interpreted, means a man 
with a proclivity for makin’ love to the inside 
of a bottle.” 

The Thunderer’s irrepressible laughed, for 


30 


The Woman Hater 


he, too, was a man of thirst. His thirst was 
perhaps as intense as Jo For ShorFs, but it 
was another kind of thirst — a thirst for 


news. 


CHAPTER 11. 


“ TOO MUCH POT/! 

Next morning after breakfast, on Captain 
Roderick’s invitation, Mr. Bones moved all 
his belongings aboard the yacht. His in- 
terest in local problems had been greatly 
aroused by the smuggler’s characteristic de- 
scription of the vigorous fight that had been 
made against the establishment of a Back- 
woods University near Big Frog Pond, for he 
wished to know how the four schools fared 
during the time they were maintained at 
Captain Roderick’s expense. 

How did the schools get along after 
you stole the university campus. Captain?” 
was the way the reporter put the ques- 
tion. 

“Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, hired 
Bobbie Widow Billie the Gentleman for Big 
Frog Pond, Mashack Donald the Agnostic for 
Little Frog Pond, Maggie Jo For Short for 
Juniperville, and Lame Mary, the Blind 
Widow’s daughter, for Spruceville; and I 
31 


32 


The Woman Hater 


gave them strict orders to run the schools 
accordin’ to law. ‘ Use the official text- 
books,’ I says; ‘use the official time-table,’ I 
says; fact, as old Donald the Duvil would 
say ” 

“ His nickname certainly takes the cake,” 
interrupted Bones. 

“ You’re right there, Bones^ old boy,” the 
sea-dog admitted. “ Uvery time the old 
sinner would take off his shoes to warm his 
feet, people would be watchin’ for cloven 
hoofs. As for expectin’ to see horns sproutin’ 
on his forehead — why, the very birds of the 
air must have been lookin’ out for them 
for years. It’s quare, too, what has got into 
the people. If the poor misfortunate had 
been called Donald the Angel instead of 
Donald the Duvil, people would have the 
shoulders picked out of his clothes lookin’ for 
wings.” 

“ What happened then? ” asked the news- 
paper hound, eager to know more. 

“ Wal,” answered the sea-dog, “ I told the 
teachers to carry out my instructions to the 
letter — that I was goin’ away. I came home 
a few days before Christmas, and I at onct 
started on my inspectoral tour of the four 
schools under my jurisdiction. 

- “ I first called at the Big Frog Pond 


Too Much Pot 


33 


Academy, and rapped at the door. I beared 
something like bones rattlin^ — save in your 
presence, Bill Bones; then, the door opened, 
and in that door stood a veritable skeleton 
held together with a layer of skin and 
covered up with loose-fittin^ clothes. It was 
almost the remains of Bobbie Widow Billie 
the Gentleman, B. A., the Principal of the 
far-famed Big Frog Pond School. Thin? 
Thin was no name for him. You are fat com- 
pared to him^ my dear Bones, and you are 
thin enough for match-paper. 

‘ What the duvil is the matter, my boy? ^ 
I says to Bobbie. ^ You are not lookin^ well 
at all,’ I says. Then the skeleton made 
answer: 

^ I am purty darn near dead, thank you,’ 
he says — an answer worthy, in point of 
politeness, of poor Billie the Gentleman him- 
self! 

^ What have you been doin’ with your- 
self? ’ I says. ‘ You look beyond the last 
stages of consumption/ I says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ he says, ‘ I have only been teach- 
in’,’ he says, ‘ and if I should happen to draw 
my last breath before the end of the year,’ 
he says, ^ I want you to know. Captain, that 
I did my duty by you and by the school law of 
the province,’ he says. 


34 


The Woman Hater 


^ 1^11 see about that/ I says, enterin’ the 
school ahead of him. 

As soon as I did, up got about twenty-five 
skeletons, clad in homespun, and thinner, if 
anything, than the poor mis fortunate who 
met me at the door. 

I got quite a scare, Bones, my boy, I can 
assure you; fact, I thought about thirty feet 
square of the Big Frog Pond graveyard was 
after cornin’ to life. I want to say right here, 
too, that those skeletons were a credit to 
their teacher. Polite? Polite was no name 
for them; they stood up until I sat down, and 
then they all sat down together, noiselessly 
adjustin’ their bones in their respective 
homespuns. 

^^To say that I was completely flabber- 
gasted, Bones, old chap, is puttin’ it mildly. 
I nuver see’d the likes before, and I believe 
I’d have fallen in a faint did not Bobbie come 
to my rescue with characteristic hospitality. 

“ ‘ What lessons would you like to take. 
Captain?’ he says. 

“ ^ I am not particular,’ I says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ he says, ‘ I think we’ll begin purty 
darn near the bottom. Grade III,’ he says. 

With that four or five little skeletons got 
on their feet and were manoeuvred out into 
position on the middle of the floor. It was 


Too Much Pot ” 


35 


mighty funereal-lookin’, Mr. Bones, but I was 
on my inspectoral tour; I had to take my 
medicine, and it wasn’t hot Scotch, either. 

That aggregation of bones took to readin’ 
some strong stuff about a little red hen that 
had found a grain of wheat, and instead of 
eatin’ it like any ordinary hen would have 
done, tried to get some one to plant it for her. 
The cat refused, the rat refused, the dog re- 
fused, and, heaven bless you, if the pig didn’t 
refuse ! Then the hen decided to plant it her- 
self, and she did. 

^^When the wheat was ripe, the hen got 
lazy again, and wanted to find some one who 
would take it to the mill. But the cat, and 
the rat, and the dog, and the pig, each in turn 
declined to have anything whatuver to do 
with it, so the cussed hen had to get busy. 

\yal — when the wheat was ground into 
fiour, the well-know’d hen couldn’t get any- 
one to make the fiour into bread, so she had 
to do it herself. When it came to eatin’ the 
bread, howuver, the cat, and the rat, and the 
dog, and the pig, all wanted to sponge on the 
hen, but the unsociable hen simply wouldn’t 
be sponged on; she ate the whole business 
herself. 

I didn’t quite ketch on to the point of the 
joke, but perhaps it was because my laughin’ 


36 


The Woman Hater 


apparatus refused to work in such gruesome 
atmosphere. Anyhow, I reached one conclu- 
sion, namely, that such strong stuff as that 
little-red-hen story was excellent diet for 
producin’ intellectual skeletons. 

“ Then came some more strong stuff about 
a chicken who got biffed in the head with an 
acorn, and instead of takin’ her medicine, 
decided that the sky had fallen and coaxed 
Henny Penny, Cocky Locky, Ducky Lucky, 
Goosey Loosey, and Turkey Lurkey off with 
her to tell the King. But it appears that the 
pilgrimage nuver reached its destination 
owin’ to the machinations of one Foxy Loxy. 

Nothing short of a personal insult to the 
children of Big Frog Pond ! Just think on the 
idea of tryin’ to teach Cape Breton kids the 
art of nicknamin’. You might as well try to 
teach a fish how to swim. 

I told Bobbie to parade the skeletons off 
to their seats; then I asked him how he 
developed so many candidates for the Big 
Frog Pond cemetery. 

“ ^ By stickin’ to the official time-table,’ he 
says ; ‘ by followin’ the official regulations to 
the letter,’ he says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ I says, ^ what are you teachin’? ’ 

“^Teachin’?’ he says. ‘Have you got a 
half a day to spare?’ h^says. 


Too Much Pot ” 


37 


^ Give us a few outlines/ I says. 

^ Readin’, ’ritin^, Arithmetic/ he says; 
‘ spellinA, drawinA, geography, language, alge- 
bra , a he says; ^ hygene, temperance, health 
reader,A he says ; ‘ lessons on nature,A he says ; 
^ all about microbes/ he says; ‘all about 
metals, stones, earths, flowers, shrubs, trees, 
insects, fish, reptiles, birds, and mammals,A he 
says ; ‘ all about ventilation, evaporation, 
f reezinA,A he says ; ‘ agriculture,A he says ; 
‘ horticulture,A he says ; ‘ bookkeepinA/ he 
says ; ‘ manual traininA/ he says ; ‘ singinA,A he 
says ; ‘ music,A he says ; ‘ geometry,A he says ; 
‘ calesthenics/ he says, ‘ and military drill. 
These,A he says, ‘ are a few of the things I 
have been teachinA,A he says. 

“Wal — Bones, I want to say right here 
that a man would have to be a combination of 
Mozart and Napoleon Bonaparte to teach 
such stuff, and the scholars would have to be 
a cross between an alligator and a rhinoceros 
to stand the pressure of such teachinA for five 
hours and a half each day. Howuver, when 
the Principal of the Big Frog Pond Academy 
got all the skeletons on their feet singinA, I 
thought it was time to send for the doctor; 
and, as luck would have it, I looked out of 
the window and saw Dr. Dinglebones passinA. 
He was in a hurry, of course; but when I took 


38 


The Woman Hater 


out a fist full of five-dollar bills and shook 
them in his face, he had lots of time. 

^‘As Inspector of Schools, self-appointed, 
sassy, stubborn, I invited him in, and asked 
him to examine the scholars. He did so. 

“ ‘ Wal/ I says, ^ what^s wrong with them? ^ 
I says. 

« < They have anaemia,’ he says. ‘ Too 
much confinement,’ he says, ^too little ex- 
ercise.’ 

‘ Too much pot,’ I says. 

“ ‘ Too much what? ’ he says. 

‘ Too much pot — ^too much education pot,’ 
I says, and I was right. Bill Bones, New 
York. 

^^The skeletons were dismissed until the 
middle of January, and I gave the Principal 
of the Big Frog Pond Academy a bit of my 
mind, with one result, namely, that those of 
the scholars who came back after the holi- 
days got less pot.” 

“ How did you find the other schools? ” 
asked the reporter, looking up from his note- 
book. 

How? ” repeated the sea-dog. There 
were no candidates for the Big Frog Pond 
buryin’-ground for one thing. When I got to 
Little Frog Pond, I found the official time- 
table and the regulations sadly neglected, 


Too Much Pot 


39 


my dear fellow, with the happy result that 
matters there were fairly satisfactory. 

At Juniperville, there was a strange com- 
motion in the schoolhouse just before I 
entered it. I beared a window goin’ up, and 
when I got in, Maggie Jo For Short was 
blushin^ all over her purty face, and the 
scholars were all laughin’ to bu’st their 
sides. I know’d there was something up, 
so I called a little girl out of the schoolhouse, 
gave her five cents, and told her to hold my 
horse. 

What’s all the fun about?’ I says. 
^ Dannie Donald the Bad Man was in the 
schoolhouse, makin’ love to our teacher,’ she 
says, ^ and when he see’d you cornin’/ she 
says, ^ he up with the window and disap- 
peared,’ she says. 

^^^Who is Dannie Donald the Bad Man?’ 
I says, not bein’ able to recognize him. 

‘ Dannie Donald the — I don’t like to 
curse,’ she says, and I know’d at onct that it 
was a protdgd of mine, Dannie Donald the 
Duvil, just home for his Christmas holidays 
from the Law School. 

^ Wal — sissy,’ I says, ^ I don’t blame him, 
for your teacher is a mighty good-lookin’ girl.’ 

There were no skeletons in Juniperville, I 
went to tell you. Those duvils of scholars 


40 


The Woman Hater 


were outlaws to the finger tips, chewin’ gum 
and pastin’ each other in the faces with mud- 
balls. I rather liked the look of the bunch, 
though, and gave their teacher a dollar to get 
molasses to make candy for them. 

But the greatest pleasure I got was from 
my visit to Spruceville, where poor little 
Lame Mary, the Blind Widow’s daughter, 
was holdin’ forth. She had no grade, poror 
little girl; she was a kitchen graduate with 
a good knowledge of readin’, ’ritin’, and 
’rithmetic, and a head chuck full of common 
sense. I made believe that I was as mad as 
a hatter because she wasn’t stickin’ to the 
official time-table, and I growled considerably 
both at her and at the scholars. But she says 
to them: 

‘ Don’t mind him, children dear,’ she says; 
^ he’s only tryin’ to bark a little, but he’s 
no dog,’ she says. ^ He’s a whole man 
with a heart as big as a wash-tub, assayin’ 
ninety per cent, gold,’ she says, ^ and filled 
to overfiowin’ with kindness,’ she says. 

‘^Wal — I can’t tell you how that touched 
me. I took some lessons, and found that she 
was teachin’ the kids the useful arts of cook- 
in’, sewin’, darnin’, cetera, mixed in with 
readin’, ’ritin’, and ’rithmetic. 

I gave her one five-dollar bill as a Christ- 


Too Much Pot ’’ 


41 


mas present for herself before I ducked out 
of the schoolhouse; another, to get presents 
for the kids; and on my way home I kept 
thinkin’ that perhaps there might be a pos- 
sibility of curin^ her mother’s eyes, with the 
result that there was an eye specialist on the 
way from Sydney the followin’ day. A short 
time afterwards an operation was performed, 
and the poor misfortunate can now see as 
well as uver with one eye, and a little with 
the other. 

“ That was all right, Bones, old man, but 
when she came to thank what she called her 
kind benefactor, she riled me considerably, 
for as soon as she was ushered into my 
presence, she began to cry, and I want to say 
right here that if there is one thing more 
than another that I can’t stand, it’s a woman 
exercisin’ the flood-gates of her face without 
sufficient reason. 

“ ‘ Clear to the bottomless pits out of this,’ 
I says. ‘ The mere fact that I got a specialist 
to take cataracts off your eyes doesn’t give 
you any license to shed torrents of liquid with 
them in my presence,’ I says, ^ so clear out of 
this,’ I says; and only it was New Year’s Day 
and I was feelin’ happy over gettin’ her sight 
restored, I’d have told her to go straight to — 
have another cigar. Bones, old chap; the end 


42 


The Woman Hater 


of that butt you are suckin’ is mighty near 
the tip of your misfortunate nose.” 

I suppose the schools nowadays are very 
much different from what they were in your 
day, Captain,” The Thunderer remarked, as he 
lit another cigar. 

Indeed they are,” the smuggler assented, 
“ and I cannot say that matters are changin’ 
for the better. If there is one thing more 
than another that people are after goin’ mad 
on, it is the subject of education. There is 
too cussed much education pot for this 
starve-dog-or-eat-hatchet century — too much 
pot! 

A thorough knowledge of readin’, ’ritin’, 
and cypherin’^ is what’s needed by the com- 
mon people. What’s the good of a smatterin’ 
of algebra to those who have to spend their 
lives jiggin’ fish? What’s the good of cal- 
isthenics to a man chasin’ potato-bugs? 

^^Why, there’s old Donald the Bad Man. 
He can give you day and date for almost 
uverything of importance that has happened 
for the last two thousand years, although he 
couldn’t see pigs in a cabbage-patch right 
under his nose, even in broad daylight. 

“ But you must go with the bunch in the 
matter of this turkey-stuffin’ variety of educa- 
tion that’s the vogue to-day — ^you must stam- 


Too Much Pot 


43 


pede with the herd or you will be looked upon 
as odd, my dear Bones. You mustn^t kick 
against the educational stuffin’ that’s goin’ 
on all over the world or you will be looked 
upon as a crank, adjusted only for manipu- 
latin’ such things as grindstones, hand- 
organs, cetera. 

If you complain about there bein’ too 
much humpin’ over useless studies, you’ll be 
told that calisthenics will counteract curva- 
ture of the spine. If you kick against the 
hours bein’ too long, you’ll be promptly told 
that the hours in the penitentiary are longer. 

^^Why, Mr. Bones, you wouldn’t dare to 
feed your two-year-old colt on a diet parallel 
to what you’ll find sizzlin’ around in the 
education pot, for if you did, you would soon 
be mournin’ what promised to be a valuable 
horse. Three feeds a day, plus water and 
exercise, will make a colt mighty frisky, 
whereas twenty feeds of useless stuff would 
make him a candidate for the bone-yard.” 

That’s right. Captain.” 

^^I can’t help thinkin’ of old Grandpa 
Donald uvery time this education question 
comes up. He got sassy in Sydney one day to 
the extent of tollin’ a bunch of Sydney sports 
that he had the fastest horse in Cape Breton. 

‘ Is that so? ’ says one of them. 


44 


The Woman Hater 


“ ^ That^s so/ says Grandpa Donald, ^ and 
I am willin^ to risk twenty-five dollars on my 
horse’s reputation,’ he says. 

‘ I’ll take you,’ says one of the outfit, and 
the money was put up. 

The Sydney chap accordingly drove out to 
Big Frog Pond one cold day in winter, and 
at the appointed hour Grandpa Donald was 
on the ice with his colt. Of course, old 
Grandpa’s horse was faster, but the old sin- 
ner was too greedy about his horse’s reputa- 
tion, and as soon as Sydney appeared on the 
ice. Grandpa spurted and fiew past him. 
Sydney turned back. Grandpa then wheeled 
around and passed him again. He must 
have performed this stunt half a dozen times 
until his horse was tired. 

‘ Now, didn’t I beat you,’ he says. 

<< < Why, my dear friend,’ says Sydney, ^ I 
was only gettin’ my colt warmed up,’ he says. 
‘Come on now,’ he says, and he started off 
up the track. Grandpa after him. 

“ Of course, Sydney won, for old Grandpa 
Donald’s horse was played out. 

“ Now, that’s the way with education. 
Most persons have so dissipated their en- 
ergies humpin’ over useless studies that when 
the real race of life comes off, they’re com- 
pletely winded like old Grandpa’s horse. 


Too Much Pot ’’ 


45 


All can’t be railway presidents, for then 
there would be no one to collect tips in the 
parlour cars; but common people, only fitted 
by nature for a place in the backbone of the 
country, should not allow themselves to be 
ground into paint for heightenin’ the coun- 
try’s complexion.” 

^‘You’re right there. Captain. You have 
too much education pot nowadays — ^too much 
pot! ” 

You needn’t say, ^ You have too much 
education pot/ Bones, old chap. You should 
have said, ^We have too much education 
pot,’ for some of you fellows on the other 
side of the international boundary line 
are just as bad as we are, and we are bad 
enough. 

^^Why, my dear fellow, only last summer 
I saw a future President of the United States 
right here in Baddeck, and he was taken as 
much care of as if he were a package of 
dynamite. He was only five years old, and he 
was certainly a curiosity! I took him across 
from lona^ a couple of months ago, and I got 
so out of patience with his fond mother and 
his cussed nurse that I felt like dumpin’ the 
whole outfit overboard. 

The nurse was a high-geared talkin’-ap- 
paratus, with the artistic temperament very 


46 


The Woman Hater 


highly developed, and she talked eternally 
about her precious care. 

“ As soon as she got aboard the yacht, she 
at onct proceeded to give me what she called 
valuable pointers about bringin’ up one of 
those prodigies of greatness, and I let the 
pointers in on one side of my head and out 
on the other. I carry ballast enough for 
ordinary occasions, and if she had been a 
shrewd judge of human nature she would 
have seen that I was purty darn steady in a 
gale of wind.” 

“ What did she have to say? ” 

She went over the whole plan of cam- 
paign from the cradle to the White House. 
^ I was called in when President Willie was 
two months old,’ she says, ‘ and I was given 
charge of him,’ she says. ^ My first duty was 
to keep him quiet/ she says. ^ No one was 
allowed to talk to him, or tease him, or fondle 
him. Such nonsense is bad for the nerves,’ 
she says, ‘ and we want President Willie to 
be a man of nerve,’ she says. 

“ ^ I see,’ I says, lookin’ at the little rascal 
to see what effect such lonely nerve treat- 
ment had on him; and, as I listened, I could 
almost hear the roarin’ of wild animals in the 
jungles of Africa! And do you know a very 
wicked thought stole through my head at the 


Too Much Pot ’’ 


47 


time, but I did not dare give utterance to 
it.” 

^^What was that, Captain?” 

I thought what a contented jail-bird such 
solitary confinement would develop Willie 
into later on, but I had to keep mum on the 
subject. 

“ The cussed nurse didn^t keep mum, how- 
uver; she grabbed President Willie and 
showed me a couple of patches on the knees 
of His Excellency’s trousers. 

“ ^ Do you see that? ’ she says. 

‘ Yes,’ I says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ she says, ^ that’s part of President 
Willie’s education. His trousers are new, to 
be sure, so we had to cut holes in them with 
a pair of scissors, and then patch them up.’ 

^ What did you do that for? ’ I says. 

“ ^ Wal,’ she says, ‘ it’s part of his trainin’; 
it was done to make him feel like poor boys,’ 
she says. 

Wouldn’t that knock the stuffin’ out of 
you, Mr. Bones? Of course, as a kid, I had 
holes in my own trousers often enough, but 
I want to say right here that they weren’t 
made with a scissors. Poverty had a hand at 
the job. 

“Wal — this lean, cadaverous nurse, with 
the thin, white hair, the cracked voice, the 


48 


The Woman Hater 


shallow complexion, and all the other impedi- 
menta of dyspepsia, then went on to relate 
how President Willie shone in the kinder- 
garten. 

“ ‘ Pd rather have beared of him shinin’ in 
a scrap with one of the kids across the 
street,’ I says. 

“ Shades of Lincoln^ of Grant, of McKinley? 
What trainin’ for the Presidency of the 
greatest republic the world has uver known! 
I can almost imagine the boy Lincoln in a 
modern kindergarten. With what honest 
indignation would he not trample under foot 
those miserable toys of intellectual de- 
crepitude, and with what haste would he not 
flee from those little dens of national decay! 
But President Willie had to graduate from a 
kindergarten, then from a high school, then 
from a university, then from a law school, as 
if these were mere milestones of greatness! 

“We haven’t got all the foolishness on this 
side of the international boundary, Bill 
Bones. We have only some of it.” 

“ Poor President Willie! ” laughed The New 
York Thunderer. 

“ Poor little fellow! ” drawled the sea-dog. 
“ I couldn’t help feelin’ sorry for His Excel- 
lency as I saw him paradin’ up and down the 
streets of Baddeck, one summer evening, 


“ Too Much Pot 


49 


with kid gloves on his hands to protect them 
from Cape Breton microbes. There he was, 
hangin’ on to the old girl, while the real 
future Presidents of your great republic were 
no doubt drivin^ home cattle, or weedin’ 
potatoes, on some Ohio farm.” 

“ Correct you are. Captain. We have too 
much education pot nowadays — too much 
pot! ” 


CHAPTER HI. 


DRAWN INTO THE GAME. 

About three o’clock that afternoon, Cap- 
tain Roderick left Baddeck for Big Frog 
Pond. Four hours later, the Lady Eileen was 
made fast to the wharf directly in front of 
the smuggler’s house. 

Getting out his pencil and note-book after 
tea that evening. The Thunderer’s irrepres- 
sible took occasion to remind the sea-dog that 
he had not as yet finished telling him how 
he happened to go into provincial politics, 
I know how you got your fighting blood 
up. Captain,” Bones declared, “ but I don’t 
know just how you came to be drawn into 
the game.” 

“ Wal,” drawled the smuggler, “ my first 
political skirmishin’ was done in the munic- 
ipal field, which is our humblest place of 
operations, our bottom of the ladder; and 
when I went into municipal politics, which is 
some time ago now, I did it to take the con- 
ceit out of Billie the Merchant, who seems to 
50 


Drawn Into The Game 


51 


bear the same relation to me that a red rag 
does to a bull. 

''The mere sight of the fellow has a 
tendency to stir up within me a certain bull- 
dog proclivity for grabbin’ something and 
holdin’ on until something gives. It’s quare, 
but it’s true^ for I hadn’t the slightest idea of 
goin’ any further in politics until Billie the 
Merchant said to Jo For Short one day that 
I hadn’t pluck enough to run for the provin- 
cial legislature. It appears that Jo For 
Short wanted to tease Billie the Merchant, so 
he made up some stuff about me goin’ into 
provincial politics. 

" ' Good-day, Jo For Short,’ says Billie. 

" ' Good-day yourself,’ says Jo. 

" ' Any news? ’ says Billie. 

" ' No,’ says Jo, ' only I beared them talkin’ 
about bringin’ Captain Roderick out for a 
seat in the house of assembly.” 

" ' Captain Roderick runnin’ for a seat in 
the house of assembly!’ says Billie, with an 
old and well-know’d grin on his ugly face. 

' Why^ the very idea! ’ he says. ' You might 
as well run one of the frogs that you’ll hear 
croakin’ in the Pond as that scoundrel. Ye 
gods and little dog-fish! ’ he says. ' What are 
we cornin’ to when we can’t get anything 
better to send to parliament to make our 


52 


The Woman Hater 


laws than one of the biggest law-breakers in 
the whole country. To think of it makes me 
sick to my stomach/ he says. ‘ Anyhow/ he 
says, ^he hasn’t got the pluck to run,’ he 
says. 

^^^But he beat you for the municipal 
council/ says Jo. 

^ Yes/ says the bankrupt, ‘ but he beat 
me with promises and bad rum.’ 

“ ‘ It wasn’t with promises and bad rum/ 
says Jo. 

“ ^ I tell you it was,’ says the man with the 
empty shop. 

‘ I’ll make a bee-line for Captain Eoderick 
and I’ll tell him/ says Jo. 

^ You may/ says Billie. ^ Nothing would 
give me greater pleasure,’ he says. 

Jo For Short has been purty darn loyal 
to me since I saved him from the Backwoods 
University epidemic, and the first thing I 
know’d he appeared on the scene, tuned up 
to concert pitch, his mental fiddle-strings 
fairly bu’stin’ with tension. 

What’s the matter, Jo?’ I says. 

^ My political blood is boilin’/ he says, 
and he told me the whole story. 

^^^Wal — Jo/ I says, ‘I ain’t very particu- 
lar just what. Billie the Merchant says about 
me,’ I says. ‘ He’s a trifie sore, for one thing/ 


Drawn Into The Game 


53 


I says, ^ because I bumped him kind of hard 
when he was aspirin^ to a seat in the munic- 
ipal council,’ I says. ‘ As for his remarks 
about rum and things,’ I says, ^ I want to say 
right here, J o For Short, that the fellow with 
the empty shop lied when he said that I dis- 
tributed bad rum, for I’ll warrant that any 
stimilant I carried on my hip before that 
council election was the best produced in this 
country. Billie the Merchant tried to buy off 
all the bad pays by distributin’ goods to them 
on long credit,’ I says, ‘ and it is due to him 
to say that his policy met with my approval 
to such an extent that I actually encouraged 
some notoriously bad pays to patronize his 
Election Emporium which drew its last 
breath long before the fatal day. Billie’s 
popularity gradually subsided with the col- 
lapse of the Emporium,’ I says, ‘ and the be- 
nighted, ungrateful electors stampeded for 
the diabolical outlaw who opposed him. So 
you can tell Billie the Merchant for me, Jo 
For Short,’ I says, ‘ that no man who had the 
courage to encounter such a political colossus 
as the bu’sted philanthropist of Big Frog 
Pond should be accused of want of pluck,’ I 
says. 

Wal — Bones, although I pretended not to 
mind what Billie the Merchant said about my 


54 


The Woman Hater 


want of pluck, I want to say right here before 
I forget it, that it had a tendency to make 
my political blood simmer. Want of pluck, 
indeed! I wished to let Billie the Merchant 
and his gang see that I had the necessary 
pluck, so I told Jo For Short that I was goin’ 
to run for the provincial legislature. 

I was then worth one million one hundred 
and fifty-seven thousand dollars, havin’ con- 
verted all my securities, with a few excep- 
tions, into hard cash; and you know that a 
dog sittin’ on a pile of rocks that big has a 
tendency to think that people will pay a 
certain amount of attention to his bark. But 
very few know, my dear Bones, that I am the 
only millionaire in Nova Scotia.” 

And you’re the only millionaire in Nova 
Scotia, Captain? ” 

I am the one and only,” declared the sea- 
dog, ^^and I made uvery dollar of the pile 
honestly, takin’ chances on the stock market 
and speculatin’ in mines, which turned out 
mighty profitable. But a pile of money isn’t 
very much better than a pile of mud, that is, 
over and above what is necessary to live ac- 
cordin’ to one’s station in life, cetera. But it 
makes great backin’, Bones, old chap, par- 
ticularly when a fellow is sassy. You know 
it requires money to be real sassy, for unless 


Drawn Into The Game 


55 


a man can pay his bills upon demand, he can’t 
afford to be sassy. 

There’s no pleasure like the pleasure of 
bein’ sassy and independent, unless it’s the 
pleasure of givin’, and both kinds of pastime 
require hard cash. 

‘‘ There’s nothing like a fat bank account. 
Uvery dollar of the net balance is your 
friend. But you are gettin’ me talked off my 
story. I started out to tell you how I got 
drawn into the game. 

“ Wal — the news of my latest political in- 
tentions spread like wild fire. Whenuver I 
moved, and whereuver I went, I got the glad 
hand and all kinds of encouragement. I was 
actually on the war-path, painted with polit- 
ical war-paint, and decorated with political 
feathers. I felt that I needed a secretary, so 
I took my protdgd, Dannie Donald the Duvil, 
law limb, cetera. 

“ He was quite a handicap at times; he was 
good-lookin’ and the girls showed a tendency 
to get struck on him. But that is make no 
difference. I want to say right here that you 
can’t beat the good people of Cape Breton for 
hospitality. They nearly killed me with 
kindness, Mr. Bones. Even those who told 
me they were goin’ to vote against me were 
uniformly kind. I believe they actually 


56 


The Woman Hater 


meant to kill me with kindness, for it was, 
^ Good-day, Captain Koderick, and how are 
you? I am not goin’ to vote for you and your 
colleague, because I already promised to vote 
for the two other fellows, but come into the 
house and have a rest.’ 

My private secretary would usually want 
to go, particularly if he saw any purty girls 
peepin’ out at the side of the window-blinds, 
and then it was either a meal of the best the 
house afforded, or a glass of cream. Why, 
one day I had no less than two breakfasts, 
three dinners, two suppers, and twenty-seven 
glasses of cream. 

“ That was the limit, for if any fellow came 
along that evening and shook me good and 
hard and then clapped me on the back, I was 
so full of cream that I believe I’d have 
coughed up a print of butter. 

Lawyer Dudley, from Sydney, was my 
colleague, and lots of people had a grudge 
against the old fellow. Some said he sued 
them; others, that he wrote them sassy 
letters askin’ them to pay up. 

‘ Wal,’ I says to them, ‘ if you don’t give 
my colleague one vote, don’t give me the 
other. I want you to vote the straight ticket, 
for I’ll stand or fall by my colleague,’ I says. 

But it was the question of patronage that 


Drawn Into The Game 


57 


bothered me most. Jo For Short wanted to 
be a Justice of the Peace. < Yon know, Cap- 
tain Koderick, my dear old friend,’ he says, 
^ that I’d like to be a Justice of the Peace/ he 
says, gettin’ his arm around me as he usually 
did when he wanted a drink. 

^^^Wal/ I says, ^a man qualified for the 
position of Chancellor of the Backwoods Uni- 
versity of Big Frog Pond/ I says, ^ is surely 
qualified to dispense an occasional dose of 
justice to the good people of the District of 
Juniperville/ I says, ^ but I can’t make any 
promises,’ I says. 

‘ I don’t want you to make any promises/ 
he says. ‘ I only want to know if you will 
grace the High Court of Justice for the Dis- 
trict of Juniperville with Jo For Short’s pres- 
ence after your election/ he says, tryin’ to 
be as non-commital as possible. 

“ ‘ I can’t promise you anything of the 
kind,’ I says. 

‘^But Jo thought he was a natural-born 
judge, right off the bat, and began tellin’ me 
all about the things he judged correctly when 
other men were at fault. 

^ It was I who advised old Grandpa 
Donald to appeal the case of Billie the Mer~ 
chant vs. Grandpa Donald to the County Court/ 
he says, ^ and he did/ he says, ^ and what was 


58 


The Woman Hater 


more, he won,’ he says. ^ Then there was tKe 
case about old Donald the Bad Man’s taxes,’ 
he says. ^ I have simply a divine call to the 
Bench,’ he says. 

^ Wal,’ I says, ^ divine or not, I ain’t goin’ 
to make any promises,’ I says. But Jo 
persisted until I finally had to let him down 
good and swift. ^ See here, Jo For Short,’ I 
says, ^you know as well as I do that if I 
promised to create you a Justice of the Peace, 
I’d be liable to be disqualified from sittin’ in 
parliament,’ I says. 

‘ But I wouldn’t tell,’ he says. 

Wal — ^that riled me. The fellow couldn’t 
keep a secret long enough to draw his breath. 

‘ You can go straight to ’ Dash, long 

pause, blue smoke, cetera, for I was both 
sassy and independent with that well-know’d 
character who voted for me after all, al- 
though I didn’t give a darn whether he voted 
for me or not. He wanted me to run too big 
a risk for his vote and influence. 

But my troubles were only beginnin’. Jo 
Joey Joseph Jo came to see his dear old 
friend, too, and I want to say right here that 
it was truly wonderful how dear I got all of a 
sudden. Howuver, I didn’t propose to be 
dear-ed into any kind of a hole by those cussed 
ofidce-seekers, so I stood on all kinds of 


Drawn Into The Game 59 

dignity. But poor Jo Joey Joseph Jo was 
very modest in his demands. He didn^t want 
a position on the Bench; he merely wanted 
the repairin’ of the Big Frog Pond sluice — a 
job worth about seven dollars. 

^ I am sorry, Mr. Jo Joey Joseph Jo,’ I 
says, ^ but I simply can’t make any promises 
before an election,’ I says. 

^ Excuse me,’ he says, ^ excuse me! ’ 
<^<Why, certainly,’ I says, tickled all to 
pieces over the ease with which I got him 
where he belonged. 

That wasn’t the worst of it. As soon as 
it got noised around that Jo For Short and 
Jo Joey Joseph Jo were after things, I went 
up against no less than ten voters in Juniper- 
ville who all wanted positions on the Bench, 
and about forty Big Frog Ponders who were 
anxious to get the job of repairin’ the Big 
Frog Pond sluice from their dear old friend. 

Even old Donald the Duvil was lookin’ 
for something. ^ I want you to make me a 
Stipendiary Magistrate after you get elected,’ 
he says, ^with the jurisdiction of two Jus- 
tices of the Peace,’ he says. 

Just think what a holy combination Mr. 
Justice Donald the Bad Man and Mr. Justice 
Jo For Short would make! 

I was surprised at Donald the Bad Man, 


60 


The Woman Hater 


too, after all I did for his son, but some 
people have absolutely no sense of propor- 
tion when it is a matter of gratifying their 
proclivity for grabbin\ I took Dannie to 
one side and I told him that he simply had 
to keep the lid on his old man durin’ the 
campaign. But Dannie might as well try to 
keep the lid on the bottomless pits if they 
started to bubble over, so I had to let Donald 
the Bad Man sizzle along, and not only did 
he sizzle himself, but he got all kinds of 
fellows on the string, tellin’ them of the 
great pull he had with me on account of his 
son Dannie. 

“ These are only a few cases out of a 
thousand. I was simply in a duvil of a 
predicament over this cussed patronage ques- 
tion. Uvery vacancy you fill, you make from 
ten to fifty enemies and one ingrate, for the 
fellows that don’t get the job are mad, and 
somehow or another the fellow you honour 
with the position usually manages to get 
around to the back of your heels with his 
sharp teeth; so, if your low shoes have worn 
holes at the back of your socks, you may look 
out for some purty darn sharp amusement. 
Of course, there are some noble exceptions; 
I am only discussin’ general principles.” 

Were you bothered with people wanting 


Drawn Into The Game 


61 


to sell you things during the campaign? 
said the newspaper hound. 

Wasn’t I, my dear fellow? I coughed 
up to so many fellows lookin’ for subscrip- 
tions that I must have caught a subscrip- 
tion-list cough. As for people wantin’ to 
sell me things, I bought almost uvery kind 
of a commodity from a pious paper to an 
ice-cream freezer. But I drew the line when 
a fellow came along wantin’ me to buy a 
plum-tree orchard. He was a darn nice fel- 
low, too, but he couldn’t get me to bite, for 
somehow or another a hook baited with 
plum-tree didn’t look at all attractive to 
me, particularly on the eve of an election. 
I’d rather a hook baited with votes. 

But the agent was an artist. When he 
found that I wasn’t at all partial to plum, 
he tried apple-tree bait, and pear-tree bait, 
and ornamental-tree bait, and all the other 
kinds of bait in his catalogue, but the 
sucker wouldn’t bite. 

^ I see you are not interested in fruit- 
growin’,’ he says, gatherin’ up his orchard 
paraphernalia. 

^^<To tell you the truth,’ I says, ‘I am 
more interested in politics now than fruit,’ 
I says. 

Surely I did not have the honour of 


62 


The Woman Hater 


canvassin’ the popular candidate for the 
local legislature?^ he says. 

‘ How do you think things are goin’ ? ’ I 
says. 

‘ Wal/ he says, ^ to speak frankly,’ he 
says, ^ I am a stranger up here and I don’t 
know anything about your politics, but there 
is one candidate who is mighty popular with 
the people,’ he says. 

“ ‘ Which one? ’ I says. 

^ A sea-captain,’ he says ; ^ I don’t remem- 
ber his name. He’s honest, the people say,’ 
he says, ‘ and they’re all goin’ to vote for 
him,’ he says. ^ Good-morning,’ he says. 

‘^Wal — I felt kind of sorry to see such a 
darn nice chap goin’ without an order, so I 
called him back and gave him an order for 
eight hundred plum-trees, although the fel- 
low only tried to sell me a hundred. I didn’t 
realize how big a sucker I was, howuver, 
until the next spring, when I had to cough 
up something like three hundred and fifty 
dollars. I thought when that agent could not 
get me to bite that I had him blocked, but 
he simply jigged me by my vanity, and then 
jollied me out of the water without a gaff.” 

“ How did you get along on nomination 
day? ” The Neio York Thunderer asked. “ Did 
you make a speech? ” 


Drawn Into The Game 63 

^^Didn^t I?” drawled the sea-dog. I 
didn’t know just what to say, so I got Dannie 
Donald the Duvil to write out a speech for 
me, and I tried to memorize it. It was hot 
stuff, too, but it was a little too highfalu- 
tin’ for your obedient servant. I thought I 
know’d it by heart, though, but when I got 
up on my feet in Sydney, I imagined there 
was nothing but my head suspended about 
five feet seven inches and a half from the 
floor. All the rest of me was numb, and 
might as well have been sittin’ on a chair. 

When I started to speak, I wondered 
where the strange voice came from. I 
thought I nuver beared it before. 

“ ‘ Mr. Chariman, gentlemen and ladies,’ 
I says. ‘ I am delighted to see so many pres- 
ent,’ I says, ‘ particularly so many ladies,’ I 
says. 

But that was as far as I got. When I 
said that I was particularly delighted to see 
so many ladies present, there was an uproar 
lastin’ fully ten minutes. I didn’t quite 
ketch on to the point of the joke, but the 
audience must have thought I was particu- 
larly funny, for some of the men nearly 
kicked the toes out of their shoes laughin’. 

“ I was purty darn sore, I can tell you, 
though I didn’t say nothing; but I decided 


64 


The Woman Hater 


then and there not to inflict the rest of 
Dannie Donald the Bad Man’s speech on that 
audience. I wasn’t natural throwin’ boquets 
to the cussed women; but I was natural 
when I got sassy, for I was as mad as blazes. 

I abused uverybody — ^the District School 
Board, the Backwoods University promoters, 
and the Council of Public Destruction. Then 
I told the people of the Iron City that the 
roads in from Big Frog Pond were nothing 
short of a disgrace. ‘ They would be a dis- 
grace to a gang of mosquitoes,’ I says, ^ for 
they are nothing but an aggregation of mud, 
ruts, holes, broken sluices, cetera,’ I says; 
and I wound up by sayin’ that the Society 
for the Promotion of Bravery should bestow 
a medal on any one who could ride in from 
Big Frog Pond to Sydney without gettin’ 
his ribs broken. But I got there just the 
same on election day. Bones. Here is a copy 
of the official returns.” 

“ I see by this clipping that you led the 
polls in every district except Dutchville — 
isn’t that right. Captain? ” remarked the re- 
porter. 

“ Yes,” the smuggler assented, “ and I can 
thank Billie the Merchant for the landslide 
in Dutchville, for the day before the election 
the bu’sted philanthropist of Big Frog Pond 


Drawn Into The Game 65 

went down to Dutchville and told some of 
the good Dutch women that I said I would 
get elected in spite of all the sauerkraut- 
eatin’ Dutchmen this side of the old and well- 
know^d bottomless pits. 

Wal — ^that simply got their Dutch blood 
boilin’, and on election day their husbands 
and fathers and sons filed into the pollin’- 
booth to vote, one after another, led by 
old Stuntz’s Bull-dog Johnnie; and as each 
dropped his ballot into the ballot-box, he 
said: 

^ There goes some sauerkraut for Captain 
Roderick.’ 

I didn’t get a single vote in Dutchville. 
There were all kinds of lies goin’ around 
about me, but the lyin’ was done by a gang 
of old political mosquitoes whose stings had 
been so dulled by promiscuous proddin’ that 
it had no effect. 

It was not much use to tell people what 
a scoundrel I was — how I made money cheat- 
in’ the government out of the duty on booze 
and tobacco smuggled from St. Pierre. 

^ He may be a duvil,’ they says, ‘ but he’s 
smart,’ they says, and that settled it. 

It was in Dutchville that Billie the Mer- 
chant got in the only swift work done against 
me. I faced him for his election yarns in 


66 


The Woman Hater 


old Schmoker’s store, one day after the elec- 
tion, and I cornered him so badly that he had 
to admit he lied like a horse-thief. ^ It was 
a good joke on yon,’ he says to me. Wal — my 
excellent Dutch friends did not quite ketch 
on to the point of the joke with the result 
that Billie the Merchant had to leave Dutch- 
ville in more or less of a hurry. They were 
quite sore over gettin’ fooled by that elec- 
tion yarn Billie told the women. It’s those 
cussed women, my dear Bones.’ ” 

^^They are certainly good propagators of 
election stories,” Bones ventured. But say. 
Captain, what’s your candid opinion of po- 
litical life?” 

^^Wal,” drawled the smuggler, ‘^if a man 
wants peace, he should not go into politics; 
if he has a tendency to prick up his ears 
uvery time he hears any one callin’ Fido, he 
has no business in politics; but if he has lots 
of money, if he enjoys bein’ sassy and per- 
formin’ the thankless task of public slave — 
in a word, as Dannie Donald the Bad Man 
says, if he is ambitious to be a sort of target 
at which mud can be pelted, not only in the 
spring and in the fall, when mud is in sea- 
son, but all the year round — then, I say, his 
place is on the political target-post, for some 
one has got to be put up to keep the mud- 
slingers in practice.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


SOCIAL CLAWS.’^ 

Next morning, Mr. Bones came ashore and 
took a stroll around Big Frog Pond. He 
called at Billie the Merchants empty shop, 
and made the acquaintance of Captain 
Roderick’s old enemy. 

You are a stranger here,” said Bil- 
lie, whose curiosity was greatly aroused. 

What is your name, where are you from, 
and what line of business do you follow, may 
I ask?” 

I’m Bones, of The Thunderer — Bill Bones, 
New York. I came up to Cape Breton for a 
couple of months to recuperate after typhoid. 
But say, you know Captain Roderick, don’t 
you? Yes. Well, he’s a mighty clever old 
fellow.” 

Mr. Billie the Merchant did not think so; 
at least he seized the opportunity of pouring 
out against Captain Roderick a stream of 
bitter denunciation, generously sprinkled 
67 


68 


The Woman Hater 


with the most picturesque profanity the New 
York irrepressible ever heard. 

See here,” said Bones, Captain Roder- 
ick is a jolly good fellow, and I won^t stand 
any more of this.” 

“ See here yourself, Mr. Bones, if you 
please. I am ready and willing to grant you 
an interview for The New York Thunderer on 
Captain Roderick as a colossal fakir. You 
better ask him about the dancing lessons 
and the lessons in etiquette he took from 
Mamie Widow Billie the Gentleman, B. A. 
He does a whole lot of blowing about his 
political successes, but I’ll guarantee he 
won’t be so anxious to talk about the fool he 
made of himself as Mamie’s pupil.” 

“ Good-day,” said Bones, leaving the empty 
shop. “ More copy for The Thunderer in 
sight,” he added to himself, after he had got 
safely beyond the reach of Billie the Mer- 
chant’s long ears. 

That evening, Mr. Bones left for Syd- 
ney, Captain Roderick having volunteered to 
drive him as far as St. Lawrence Station. 
The wheeling was good, considering the sea- 
son of the year, and the smuggler was in 
good talking humour. 

“What queer story was that about your 
taking dancing lessons and lessons in eti- 


Social Claws 


69 


quette, Captain? asked Bones, shortly after 
they got started. 

The sea-dog blushed for once in his life. 

ICs an old story now, my dear fellow, 
and a brave story that can nuver be forgot- 
ten, as the old school book used to say about 
the Battle of the Nile. You must have come 
across Billie the Merchant.” 

I did,” the reporter acknowledged. I 
started in to praise you; he took occasion to 
abuse you, but he didn’t get very far before 
I left his empty shop. I told him that you 
were a jolly good fellow, and that I wouldn’t 
stand his abuse. But before I left he told me 
to ask you about those lessons.” 

“ Wal,” drawled the smuggler, “ you know 
my early trainin’ was very deficient in mat- 
ters pertainin’ to high life, and you also 
know that my position as member of the leg- 
islative assembly of the province made me 
one of the aristocrats of Nova Scotia, so I 
was anxious to get some pointers on the 
social duties pertainin’ to my new position. 
And while I am a plebian by birth, educa- 
tion, and trainin’, I am ex-officio an aristocrat, 
and I decided to develop my social claws for 
the purpose of climbin’ into the most exclu- 
sive society in the province. But where was 
I to get the necessary trainin’? 


70 


The Woman Hater 


Where? I looked around the distant 
horizon of my acquaintances for a suitable 
tutor, but none could I see. I then looked 
nearer home, and lo and behold! Mamie 
Widow Billie the Gentleman, B. A., gold 
medalist in calisthenics, dancin’, and deport- 
ment, loomed up as a colossus of politeness. 
Polite? I onct said she was politer than a 
hen backin’ out of a hen-coop, but I now say 
she was politer than Exquisite Donald a la 
Paree, and he had such exquisite social finish 
that they are sayin’ he used to raise his hat 
to the very gate-posts. 

But that is make no difference. I sized 
up Mamie as about the best available tutor, 
for whatuver her faults, she was a darn 
polite girl. She let her finger-nails grow long 
like an aristocratic Chinaman, she dipped 
her soup from her at the table, and her mouth 
seemed to have been specially constructed 
for detectin’ the niceties of ice-cream and for 
keepin’ her tongue from gettin’ into trouble. 
She had a secretive mouth, and it was this 
characteristic, more than its beauty, that 
made me select her as my tutor. 

But how was I to secure her services 
without alarmin’ the very frogs, literal and 
political, that had their eyes focused on me? 
I did it this way. I got what was left of her 


“ Social Claws 


71 


brother Bobbie a job as a reporter on the 
Sydney Daily Mail, and I hired her mother on 
as my housekeeper at a party darn handsome 
salary. This naturally brought mother and 
daughter under my roof, and as Mamie was 
party darn slick with the pen, I used to get 
her to write some letters for me from dicta- 
tion, thus entitlin’ her to a salary as my sec- 
retary, which she was very glad to accept. 
It meant new hats, more false hair, rats, 
cetera; paint, powder, and gum for chewin’ 
behind the scenes. 

“ I mentioned the matter of pointers in 
etiquette to Mamie’s mother one day, and 
that practical woman at onct suggested that 
we have a little formal dinner by ourselves 
uvery day for practice, and that Mamie give 
me a series of informal lectures on Social 
Finish. 

Wal — I pledged mother and daughter to 
absolute secrecy, and then Mamie began her 
course of lectures by pointin’ out that there 
was a vast difference between etiquette and 
good manners: that good manners are good 
manners uverywhere, whereas etiquette is 
not the same uverywhere. 

« < Why,’ she says, ‘ if you spit in a man’s 
face in this country, you commit a grave 
breach of etiquette, whereas a stream of 


72 


The Woman Hater 


saliva skilfully squirted into the face of a 
native of Central Africa is about as delicate 
a compliment as you can pay him/ she says. 

“ ‘ Wal/ I says, ‘ that^s squid politeness,^ I 
says ; ^ I believe Fd make a poor native of 
Central Africa/ I says. 

^ The best manners come from the heart,^ 
she says, ^ and is like perfume from the rose/ 
she says, ^ Tvhereas the best etiquette comes 
from the head,’ she says, ^ for etiquette is 
nothing more than rules to grease the pon- 
derous wheels of society — to make them run 
smooth/ she says. ‘ Note the difference,’ she 
says, ^between the smooth-runnin’ rubber- 
tired automobile of the aristocrat, and the 
wooden-wheeled ox-cart of the rustic,’ she 
says. 

“ ‘ I see the point,’ I says. 

“ ^ For instance,’ she says, ‘ if you bu’st out 
laughin’ at the fellow who falls on the floor 
after havin’ his chair pulled from under him, 
you commit a crime against good manners,’ 
she says, ‘ whereas if you blow your breath 
through your nose into your table napkin/ 
she says, ‘ in other words,’ she says, ‘ if you 
start in tootin’ your nose into it,’ she says, 

^ you are at onct regarded as a veritable mon- 
ster of social junk in the old and well-know’d 
round-house of etiquette/ she says. 


Social Claws” 


73 


^ I grasp the distinction/ I says. 

To emphasize the value of good manners, 
she then told me about a young fellow-coun- 
tryman of yours, my dear Bones, named 
Donald Brodie, who had to give up his course 
at West Point and return to Washington, 
owin’ to defective lungs. 

^ He was poor/ she says, ^ he was very 
poor/ she says. 

^ Poor fellow/ I says. 

‘ Yes/ she says, ‘ and he had to leave 
West Point because he began to cough up 
blood,’ she says. 

^ I suppose he had nothing else to cough 
up,’ I says, ^ but don’t let me interrupt your 
story, Mamie,’ I says, so she went on. 

Wal — it appears he had very few friends 
— they are not always very plenty when 
a fellow is broke — but he was a sort of 
specialist in good manners, which accounted 
for the fact, so Mamie said, that he was in- 
vited out one day to a dinner to which the 
Spanish Ambassador, His Royal Highness 
the Duke Guadalajara de la Sierra, was also 
asked, but I rather think his host felt sorry 
for him because he was nothing but a poor 
lunger, and wanted to give him a good feed. 
Howuver, His Royal Highness had the place 
of honour, and Donald Brodie was stationed 


74 


The Woman Hater 


where he could lay in a good supply of grub, 
under the all-observin’ eye of the Spanish 
Ambassador. 

“Things were goin’ smoothly until the 
salid was served. Then the part of the host- 
ess’s face that wasn’t painted became pale, 
for on a leaf of lettuce brought to the poor, 
misfortunate Donald Brodie, a huge cater- 
pillar had taken up its position, and was 
complacently exercisin’ the muscles of its 
back by swingin’ to and fro on the lettuce 
leaf. His Koyal Highness noticed it, the 
hostess noticed it; fact, nearly all the guests 
noticed it. 

“ ‘ Would Donald Brodie notice it? ’ was 
the question of the moment. ‘ And if he 
should notice it, what would he do? Would 
he spoil the appetite of the other guests by 
callin’ attention to it? Would he subject 
himself to a visit from the Society for the 
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals by crush- 
in’ it? ’ 

“ Oh, no! Havin’ acquired the useful habit 
of toadyin’, Donald Brodie turned toad when 
the awful moment came, and heroically swal- 
lowed lettuce, caterpillar, and all. 

“ There must have been a moment of awful 
suspense while Donald Brodie was tryin’, 
condemnin’, and electrocutin’ the poor, mis- 


Social Claws ” 


75 


fortunate caterpiller; and then, I suppose, 
the whole outfit bu’sted out laughin^, al- 
though Mamie was silent on that point. She 
merely said that the hostess felt as if her 
life was saved, and that after dinner His 
Koyal Highness sought out this martyr to 
etiquette who was rewarded by bein^ sent to 
Cuba as English secretary to a high official 
there. 

‘ The climate suited him,’ says Mamie; 

^ he recovered his health,’ she says, ‘ he 
learned to speak Spanish,’ she says, ^ and he 
married a niece of Duke Guadalajara’s, and 
lived happy uver afterwards. 

^ Is that so? ’ I says. ‘ I now know the 
cause of the Spanish- American War,’ I says. 

^ Some one from Cape Breton must have run 
across Donald Brodie and christened him 
Donald the Caterpillar,’ I says, ‘ and the 
poor, misfortunate fellow must have devel- ^ 
oped caterpiller instincts for gettin’ his back 
up, or for humpin’ it up, which amounts to 
the same thing,’ I says, ^ for ten to one,’ I 
says, ^ it was Senor Alfonso Donald the Cat- 
erpillar that first got the Cubans to rebel 
against Spanish authority,’ I says, ‘and his 
brother, Senor Dannie Donald the Cater- 
piller, that blow’d up the Maine in Havana 
Harbour, all on account of an excess of good 


76 


The Woman Hater 


manners doin^ something which will dis- 
grace his uvery descendent even unto the 
fourth generation/ I says. 

Good manners are all right up to a cer- 
tain point, Bill Bones, and Donald Brodie’s 
supply was perfectly harmless up to the 
point where they changed him from a lunger 
into a toad. There was no wonder that he 
recovered his health, for I nuver heard of a 
toad havin’ defective lungs. 

^^But between you and me. Bones, old 
chap, I think that caterpiller story was a 
little off taste. I didn’t need a kick from the 
toe of a polite boot to help me along in the 
world, for a fellow with the number of one- 
dollar friends I have to my credit at the bank 
doesn’t require that kind of locomotion. 

If Mamie thought that I was gettin’ ac- 
quainted with the usages of polite society for 
the purpose of tryin’ to win the fickle heart 
of some daughter of Eve later on, she was 
thinkin’ through her old and well-know’d 
hat; and only I came to the conclusion that 
Mamie was lecturin’ from notes she had 
taken at college, I’d have pointed the en- 
trance to the room out to her.” 

What was her first lecture on?” the ir- 
repressible asked. 

‘^Introductions,” answered the smuggler* 


Social Claws 


77 


I got a little mixed up on the first part of 
the lecture, for I was decidin’ whether or not 
to get mad over the caterpillar story. But 
I knew Mamie said something about what 
she called the primary law of the game. 

^ The young must be presented to the old,’ 
she says; ‘the unknown to the known,’ she 
says; ‘the short to the long,’ she says; 
‘the lean to the fat,’ she says; ‘the in- 
ferior to the superior,’ she says; ‘the poor 
to the rich,’ she says; ‘ the ugly to the purty,’ 
she says; ‘a gentleman to a lady,’ she says. 
‘ Then,’ she says, ‘ when introducin’ two 
strangers, some people have a clever way of 
openin’ the conversation by sayin’ something 
about each to the other,’ she says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ I says, ‘that may be all right in 
theory, Mamie,’ I says, ‘ but in practice I am 
afraid it wouldn’t work,’ I says. 

“ ‘ How?’ she says. 

“ ‘ Suppose Maggie Jo For Short and Dan- 
nie Donald the Duvil were strangers,’ I says; 
‘I’d start in by sayin’: Miss Jo For Short, 
allow me to present my friend Mr. Dannie 
Donald the Bad Man. Miss Jo For Short is 
the charmin’ daughter of Mr. Jo For Short, 
a character well-know’d around Big Frog 
Pond, who thinks he is a natural-born judge 
with a divine call to the Bench; as for Dan- 


78 


The Woman Hater 


nie, he^s the son of Donald the Bad Man, 
who is supposed to be in league with the 
powers of darkness/ I says. ^ That would 
open the way for a conversation on brim- 
stone/ I says. 

To say that Mamie was shocked, is put- 
tin’ it mildly. ^Why, Captain,’ she says, 
‘ you must say something nice,’ she says. 

^ I don’t agree with you there, Mamie,’ I 
says, ‘ for then they might take a fellow for 
a plum-tree agent tryin’ to unload an or- 
chard,’ I says. ‘ I always find it safer to be- 
gin talkin’ about the weather when I am pre- 
sented to a fellow/ I says, ^ for if he com- 
plains of the weather bein’ dry, I ketch right 
on to the fact that I could take the cork out 
of what I carry on my hip without shockin’ 
him/ I says; ‘but if he raves about wet 
weather,’ I says, ‘ I know he’s a temperance 
crank, and all I can do is to tell him that 
there’s lots of luscious cold water in the 
well,’ I says. 

“ I then told Mamie that as I could only 
stand so much Social Finish . at a time, I 
thought I had enough for the first dose, so 
she quit for the day, apparently well pleased 
with her recalcitrant pupil.” 

“ How did you get along with the formal 
dinners?” asked Bones. 


“ Social Claws ’’ 


79 


Wal/^ drawled the sea-dog, we had one, 
and that one was enough for me. The 
Widow Captain John and her daughter Mary, 
from Halifax, were visitin’ my housekeeper 
at the time, and Bobbie Widow Billie the 
Gentleman was home from Sydney for a few 
days, so I told his mother to get busy and 
give us a formal dinner. She had all the nec- 
essary articles of tableware herself, for Bil 
lie the Gentleman was quite well off at one 
time, and I gave her a free hand in the pur- 
chase of the grub. 

“My tutor hadn’t got as far as Formal 
Dinners in her lectures on Social Finish, but 
I thought I’d chance it, as I knew my appe- 
tite would not fail me, and I thought that 
was the most important thing when there 
was something good to eat on the rounds. 
She wanted me to get a dress suit sent out 
to me from Sydney for the occasion, but I 
kicked like a steer. We then compromised 
matters by my agreein’ to wear a black suit. 

“ Dannie Donald the Bad Man was the 
only outsider asked, and he was on hand at 
the appointed hour. The Widow Captain 
John was the guest of honour, and, of course, 
I had to escort her to the dinner table, and I 
want to say right here that I didn’t like the 
familiar way in which she grabbed me by the 


80 


The Woman Hater 


arm, although I didn’t say nothing. Dan- 
nie took my housekeeper; Bobbie, Mary the 
Widow Captain John, who was one of the 
finest girls in the whole world, while Mamie 
waited on the table and directed the kitchen 
end of the ceremony. 

Wal — Bones, my boy, when we got there 
the table was bare, and I nuver felt so mean 
in my life, for my idea of a formal dinner was 
a table groanin’ with good things and a side- 
board sizzlin’ with booze. There was noth- 
ing on the table except a dozen napkins 
neatly folded over as many buns, but just as 
soon as we got seated, in came Mamie with 
oysters in regular oyster plates with a stingy 
bit of lemon in the centre of each that made 
me feel like coughin’ up the ghost. 

I almost told Dannie Donald the Bad 
Man to go out into the back porch and roll in 
the oyster barrel, and then go down into the 
cellar and bring up half a dozen bottles of 
booze, but I didn’t say nothing as the guests 
weren’t apparently insulted, for they very 
leisurely speared at the oysters with an oys- 
ter fork, which differs from an ordinary fork, 
as you well know, my dear Bones, in bein’ 
smaller and in havin’ an extra prong for 
good measure. 

After we finished the oysters, Mamie 


“ Social Claws ” 


81 


brought along a little clear soup in plates, 
just a mouthful apiece, which we used for 
rinsin’ down any stray particles of oyster 
that remained in our mouths. The soup was 
so scarce and I was so thirsty that I made 
the first break — I scooped the liquid up to 
me instead of dippin’ it from me, and then, 
like a thirsty wanderer in a desert, I tilted 
up my plate to get down at the last drop. 

It made me feel so cheap to see the look 
of horror on Mamie’s face that you could 
have sold me for a cent. But she didn’t say 
nothing. She just hustled out the bites. 

“ First, we had a bite of fish, then a bite 
of entrde, then a bite of roast — of what 
Mamie called the piece de resistence^ which 
was so small that I was literally sizzlin’, I 
felt so humiliated. A bite of turkey fol- 
lowed; then came a bite of salid with cheese 
and bread and butter; then came a bite or 
two of ice-cream; then, a couple of bites of 
toasted cheese in small silver shells; then, 
the fruit was passed around, which was con- 
siderable of a relief. Then the candy was 
sampled; then coffee was served in little 
cups about the size of a thimble; then, to 
add insult to injury, water was served in 
fiat bowls with a little bit of lemon floatin’ 
around in it. I didn’t ketch on to the water 


S2 


The Woman Hater 


end of the ceremony until I saw my aristo- 
cratic housekeeper dippin^ the ends of her 
fingers into her bowl, and then I remembered 
bearin’ about finger bowls which I had al- 
ways thought was a huge joke. 

Wal — Mamie,’ I says, ^your bite-system 
of whettin’ a fellow’s appetite was quite a 
success,’ I says. ^Now, I’d like to see the 
dinner proper forthcomin’,’ I says, quoting 
the old and well-know’d chestnut. 

‘‘Wasn’t I a boor? Poor Mamie bu’sted 
out cryin’ — she expected a complement — and 
her mother fainted. It’s those cussed 
women, my dear friend! They’re always 
equal to the occasion. But that ain’t neither 
here nor there. Dannie Donald the Duvil 
ignored the stunt my aristocratic house- 
keeper was performin’ and came to my res- 
cue by sayin’: 

“‘Wal — Captain, you are a case!’ 

“I was a case, but not the case Dannie 
meant. 

“ Now, I want to say right here that Dan- 
nie was a brick, although he did look a little 
disappointed that there was no booze on the 
table. But what could I do when the Widow 
Captain John and her daughter were both 
teetotal abstainers. Wal — be that as it may, 
Mary did the most tactful thing I uver saw. 


“ Social Claws ” 


83 


“ ^ Excuse me/ she says, leavin’ the table. 
^ Poor Mrs. Billie the Gentleman is overcome 
with fatigue,’ she says. ‘You mustn’t cry, 
Mamie dear,’ she says, turnin’ to the daugh- 
ter, ‘ your mother will be all right in a short 
while,’ and so sayin’, she hustled the rural 
aristocrat out of the room. 

“ Wasn’t I relieved, though? I felt as if a 
ton weight had been lifted off my chest, and 
then and there I conceived an idea which 
I have since carried out.” 

“What was that. Captain?” 

“ I’ll tell you later on, old chap. I only 
want to say that I was mighty ashamed of 
myself. I was afraid the whole thing would 
get out immediately, but it didn’t, strange to 
say. I was afraid, too, that Mamie and her 
mother would resign forthwith, so I gave 
them twenty dollars apiece to get new hats, 
and I went to Sydney for a couple of days, 
just to be out of the way until uvery thing 
blew over. 

“When I returned, they were all glad to 
see me back, or they pretended to be, which 
is purty darn near the same thing so far as 
women are concerned, and after a few days 
uverything was runnin’ smoothly again, 
even to the extent of Mamie resumin’ her 
lectures on Social Finish. 


84 


The Woman Hater 


the way, Bones, Donald the Brewer 
lives in that house, and he usually keeps 
some purty darn good stuff, so what do you 
say if we stop and have a drink? 

All right. Captain. A drink of good stuff 
wouldn’t go too bad at all.” 

^^Whoa!” the sea-dog shouted, address- 
ing the horse. ^^You had better wait in 
the buggy until I’ll return. Bones, my boy. 
Whoa there now. Whoa ! ” 


CHAPTER y. 


SEALS.” 


As the horse was a little excitable, Cap- 
tain Roderick got Mr. Bones to remain in 
the buggy until he should return. He was 
gone a little longer than he expected, how- 
ever, and when he returned, his equanimity 
was considerably upset. 

Anything doing, Captain?” asked the 
newspaper man. 

^^No,” growled the sea-dog, getting into 
the buggy. That booze-joint is as dry as 
one of Donald the Brewer^s jokes, and I am 
mad enough to bu^st. Get ap there!” 

“What made you mad. Captain?” 

“It took a combination of circumstances 
to get my back up,” declared the smuggler. 
“ First, as soon as I went in, who should I 
run up against but that fancy son of Donald 
the BreweFs — that up-to-date article with 
the new hand-shake — and the first thing he 
did, as soon as I entered the house, was to 
land that abomination of insincerity at me.” 

85 


86 


The Woman Hater 


^^How?” asked the puzzled Bones. 

How? ’’ repeated the sea-dog. “ Wal — he 
grabbed my hand, and instead of givin’ me 
the old-fashioned, Good-day-Kory-and-how- 
are-you hand-shake that sends a thrill right 
down through the soles of a fellow’s number 
tens and makes him feel that all his friends 
aren’t dead yet, he caught my hand up loosely 
between his thumb and fingers, raised it to 
about the level of his snout, then wiggled 
it a little and let it go as if he had suddenly 
come to the conclusion that it wasn’t clean, 
or that it was infected with leprosy. 

“ Old Donald the Brewer’s son tryin’ to 
introduce that disgustin’ seal-fiipper wabble 
of degeneracy into the good old Scotch settle- 
ment of Little Frog Pond fairly makes my 
blood boil! I am sorry I didn’t give the pup 
a slap over the mouth. It would do me no 
harm, and it might do him a whole lot of 
good. 

“ I often beared it said that man was de- 
scended from a monkey. I do not know 
whether that is true or not. It sounds re- 
diculous; but one thing I do know — he is fast 
degeneratin’ into a seal, for that new hand- 
shake can only be compared to the loose- 
jointed flip that one seal would give another 
with its flipper. It’s a frigid, North-Pole 


'' Seals 


87 


kind of insincerity, all right for a silly girl 
.with an enormous proclivity for eatin^ ice- 
cream, but vastly out of place in any com- 
munity where people can even hate each 
other decently. 

Human seal is the only name for the new 
hand-shake fiend. I’d rather develop into a 
shark or a dogfish. Both are rapacious, but 
they are respectable. They put steam into 
their movements. Not so with the squid- 
backed slave of the new-hand-shake abom- 
ination. He fiip-fiap-fiops at you with his 
fiipper, leavin’ you so disgusted with the 
human species that you almost cease to 
wonder that some society hens are so fond 
of poodles. 

But that wasn’t the worst of it. Jimmie 
Donald the Brewer is gettin’ ready to go out 
to the backwoods to cut firewood, and, of 
course, he had to get into his old clothes. 
But would you believe me? His old coat was 
made previous to the time when the slaves 
of the fickle goddess of fashion began wear- 
in’ their coats ripped up the back, and the 
degenerate refused to go to the woods to cut 
wood until his poor lame sister should get 
that old coat split up the back about five or 
six inches. 

‘ I want a vent in my coat,’ he says, usin’ 


88 


The Woman Hater 


the well-knowM slang of the tailors, ^ and I 
refuse to appear out, even in the backwoods 
of Little Frog Pond, in unconventional dress,’ 
he says. ‘ There is such elegant un-finish to 
that vent,’ he says, ^ and such a-la-mode-ness 
about it,’ he says, ^ that I simply must have 
it whatuver.’ 

‘ All right, Jimmie,’ says his poor lame 
sister, and she went to work to revise her 
degenerate brother’s old coat and bring it 
down to date. 

It’s strange what’s after gettin’ into the 
people. Now, there was Donald the Brewer’s 
daughter Jessie, who was about as lovable 
a girl as you’d see in a day’s travel. She was 
generously endowed by Providence with an 
uncommonly large share of personal beauty, 
and before she went away to school she was 
about as charmin’ a girl as you’d wish to 
meet. She was dressed plain but neat, and 
the beauty of it was all her clothes were of 
her own makin’. 

I well remember the day she went away. 
Old Donald the Brewer drove her to the 
station, and was mighty sorry to see her 
goin’. She was the very picture of health. 
Her cheeks were as red as the rosy part of 
an apple, and her mouth was full of pearly 
teeth with which she was vigorously crack- 


'' Seals ” 


89 


in’ a cud of spruce-gum she herself had 
picked among the tall timbers that morning 
before she left home. 

But she was a beauty, I tell you, and I 
was proud of her, even although someone 
said her plain white dress was a little out of 
style, and although her eyes filled with a 
certain amount of juice when she came to 
say good-bye to that dry old codger know’d 
as Donald the Brewer. 

^ Here’s the train, Jessie,’ he says. 

You should have seen the look of pain 
that came over that beautiful, girlish face. 
‘ Good-bye, father,’ she says, ^ and take good 
care of yourself,’ she says. ^ Tell Jimmie to 
be good to Bloss, the old cow,’ she says, ^ and 
be sure you don’t let him kill the poor old 
dog while I am away,’ she says. 

That did her credit, but all her raw old 
father said was: 

^ Good-bye, Jessie. Be a good girl,’ he 
says. ^ Write home often, and be sure that 
you don’t fall out of the cars,’ he says. 

Wal — I happened to be at the same 
station, some few months afterwards, and 
who should I see moseyin’ around waitin’ 
for somebody but old Donald the Brewer. 
When the train stopped, off came a female 
specimen of humanity, walkin’ kangaroo, 


90 


The Woman Hater 


with a pair of feet forced into shoes two 
sizes too small for them, with hands bu’stin^ 
from the latest style of gloves, and with a 
beautiful head of hair puffed out with combs, 
pads, false hair, switches, cetera, to support 
a veritable abomination of the millinery art. 
The prodigal was returnin’. It was Jessie. 

^ My sakes alive, paw,’ was the way she 
saluted old Donald the Brewer after dis- 
gustin’ him with a new hand-shake, ‘ why did 
you appear out in your old clothes?’ 

“ ‘ Because I couldn’t get new ones and 
send you away to school,’ he says, right out 
from the shoulder. 

That was a settler, and Jessie quit takin’ 
chips off the old man’s raiment. But she 
raved about her new dress, and about the 
nightmare of a hat she had on. She called 
it a dream, but the joke was lost on her old 
man who was dry enough to ketch fire 
spontaneously. 

She was a seal, but she was a very wise 
kind of seal. She learnt the new hand-shake, 
but she also attended the gymnasium in con- 
nection with the school and acquired quite 
a good workin’ knowledge of the manly art 
of self-defence. She could punch the punch- 
in’ bag as swift as James J. Jeffries or Jack 
Johnson, and her knowledge came in very 


“ Seals 


91 


handy, for within six months after her re- 
turn, she married an extremely thirsty man 
who makes an excellent sparrin’ partner 
whenuver he gets booze enough aboard to 
put him in fightin’ humour. 

Poor Jessie! She tried to be a seal, a 
kangaroo, and a scienced boxer, and she only 
succeeded in learnin’ how to laugh more with 
one side of her face than with the other for 
the purpose of exhibitin’ a gold-capped tooth, 
and in makin’ one poor duviPs happy life 
miserable. I was often thinkin’ what a 
shame it was to send her away to school at 
all. She would have developed into a purty 
darn fine woman had she spent her spare 
time pickin’ gum among the spruce trees of 
Little Frog Pond instead of in the company 
of girls who seemed to have no higher aim 
in life than the devisin’ of plans for workin’ 
a new dress out of a penurious daddy. 

“ It’s at church you can get the best insight 
into the eccentricities that fiesh is heir to — 
at church watchin’ the people pourin’ in of 
a Sunday morning. I well remember the 
last Sunday I devoted to that very irreverent 
sort of pastime. It was at — I am not goin’ 
to mention where, but I sat down in the 
back pew and watched the worshippers filin’ 
in. 


92 


The Woman Hater 


“ It was a quare sight, and it is wonderful 
how character and habits of life show right 
out in the gait, in the dress, in the sancti- 
moniousness, or in the piety, of any partic- 
ular worshipper. Of course, there is this 
type and that type, but the first type of 
character that attracted my notice was a 
sad-faced young girl dressed plainly in a 
dress of threadbare black, who had the most 
resigned and beautiful look I uver saw in a 
human countenance. 

First of all, she was sharp on time, and 
she looked to me as if she belonged to the 
poorer classes, but she had a charm of 
manner that a princess might envy. I 
learned later on that she was a poor shop 
girl — the only support of a blind widow who 
happened to be her mother — and that she 
often had purty darn tough scratchin’ to 
make ends meet on a five-dollar-a-week 
salary. I am not goin’ to say what I did to 
help her out, for I nuver saw the girl before. 
But I will say that I put two ten-dollar bills 
and a five into an envelope and addressed 
it to her, just as an experiment. I wanted 
to see what she would do. 

^^Wal — as I expected to see her out next 
Sunday morning with a brand-new outfit of 
clothes, I naturally sat in the same seat and 


Seals 


93 


watched her, and as the bell stopped ringin^, 
along she came with a blind woman loanin’ 
on her arm. She wore the same threadbare 
dress, but the blind woman beside her had 
on a nice new outfit from hat to shoes, plain 
but neat, and I’ll nuver forget the look of 
happiness that was on that poor girl’s face. 
‘Is she an angel?’ I says to myself. ‘Or 
will Eve crop out somewhere? ’ I says. Wal 
— Eve did crop out, for as she was passin’ 
along, I noticed that her eyes were distillin’ 
liquid, and long before she got past me, the 
tears began to fall. 

“ I was kind of mad at her when I saw 
the tears cornin’, but I forgave her the next 
day when I saw her givin’ a friend a good 
old-fashioned hand-shake, and I at onct sent 
along twenty-five ten-dollar bills to which I 
pinned the followin’ anonymous note: 

“ ‘ I rather liked the stunt you did last 
Sunday. Take the old girl to see an eye 
doctor. He may be able to do something for 
her.’ 

“ Now, wouldn’t it be amusin’ to know 
what kind of an idea that girl had of the 
one who was sendin’ her the money, Bones, 
old man. She nuver saw me, that is, to 
recognize me, in her life.” 

“ She would likely picture you as young. 


94 


The Woman Hater 


and handsome, and kind, and good. Captain, 
and the fair vision would most likely haunt 
her as long as she lived. It is the sort of 
delusion a young, good-looking girl dearly 
loves. But she will never know that her 
benefactor is a grand old woman hater with 
a heart as big and as sweet as a puncheon of 
of molasses. Poor little girl ! ’’ 

Wal — that is make no difference, the last 
I beared of the widow was that she was 
bein^ treated by a specialist with good 
chances of recoverin’ her sight. Now, I 
suppose you are thinkin’, Mr. Bones, that 
I was merely givin’ in secret, as the Scrip- 
tures say, but it wasn’t that. I don’t mind 
dishin’ out cash, but I can’t stand any of the 
blubberin’ they’ll have when they come 
around sobbin’ out what they call their 
gratitude at a fellow. I take particular 
pains not to give them the chance. 

But I am away off my story. I must re- 
turn to my church characters. Of course, 
there were all kinds of dudes; the dude with 
the high collar, the dude with the white 
pants, the dude with the kid gloves and cane; 
the sanctimonious dude, the irreverent dude, 
the dude with his head poked out three or 
four inches in advance of his body. There 
was the lean dude, the fat dude, the cologne 


'' Seals 


95 


dude, and the John De Kuyper dude. But 
the dude that took my attention was the 
red-nosed variety that strutted up to the 
front pew as if he remained late for the 
purpose of attractin’ attention. I saw him 
the night before dishin’ out booze over his 
own bar, but he was a different specimen 
there. His nose did not look so bad in con- 
trast with a line-up of bottles, a white coat, 
and an apron, but it certainly looked a little 
conspicuous on its way to the front pew in 
a church. It was a peculiar nose, a really 
valuable specimen, something that a fellow 
might well be proud of. 

You are an expert, I suppose, my dear 
Bill Bones, at colourin’ a meerschaum pipe. 
No? Wal — there is quite a knack in doin’ 
it. It takes time and care. First of all, you 
fill the lower part of the bowl with twist 
and put a button on it, then you fill the top 
part with milder tobacco, and light her up. 
But you must exercise great care that you 
don’t burn the pipe by gettin’ it overheated, 
for then the nicotine won’t absorb. But if 
you are sufficiently patient for a year or so, 
you can do the stunt all right. After you get 
the meerschaum coloured to your likin’, you 
can send the pipe away and get it set. 

Wal— that booze-vender’s nose must have 


96 


The Woman Hater 


received similar treatment, for it was the 
most exquisitely coloured proboscis that uver 
I saw, and as the proud possessor strutted 
up the front pew, I could not keep from 
wonderin’ to myself how much booze it re- 
quired to produce such permanent tints, how 
long the process took, and what it cost. As 
for the settin’ of the nose, it didn’t require 
to be sent away. That was the beauty of it. 
It set itself, like an automatic hen. 

“ But while I sat in mute admiration of the 
wonderful snout of the booze-vender, I saw 
one sinner, standin’ up behind, who hadn’t 
the same appreciation of the exquisiteness 
of its colourin’. I wondered who that fellow 
was, for his face seemed familiar, when all 
of a sudden it dawned on me that I saw the 
booze-vender coaxin’ him to have a drink 
the night before. 

It appears the poor, misfortunate fellow 
was an old customer who had gone astray to 
the extent of takin’ the pledge for a year, 
and havin’ heroically succeeded in fightin’ 
down the old and well-know’d thirst, that 
tongue-stickin’-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth dry- 
ness that follows the cessation of the use 
of liquid refreshment, the fellow with the 
wonderful nose began to regard him as one 
of his black sheep. But this particular black 


Seals 


97j 


sheep was more or less of a coward, for he 
tripped up and fell over the booze-vender’s 
sneer about bein’ on the water-wagon now, 
drownin’ in one small glass of booze all the 
good resolutions, the courage, the self- 
respect, and the backbone, he had acquired 
by seven months of hard fightin’. 

‘ Poor duvil!’ I says to myself. ^Like 
the publican of old you stand down behind, 
meek, humble, subdued, and thoroughly 
ashamed of yourself,’ I says, ‘ while the man 
who lured you to your doom struts up to the 
front pew like the old and well-know’d 
pharisee,’ I says, ^ with his exquisitely 
coloured proboscis leadin’ the way,’ I says, 
^ and as I meditated on the matter, I couldn’t 
help thinkin’ what quare things must be 
written in the books above.” 

But how about the daughters of Eve? ” 
asked Bones. “ I suppose they were out in 
full force if the day was fine.” 

^VThe daughters of Eve! It was them- 
selves that were out. There was the 
pompous old hen with the heavy eyebrows 
and three or four chins, followed by a 
thoroughly hen-pecked husband with all the 
feathers out of him; there was the long, lank, 
cadaverous-lookin’, meat-axe specimen with 
little bangs droopin’ over her forehead to 


98 


The Woman Hater 


hide the wrinkles; there was the dapper little 
wabbly-necked creature with a load of straw, 
ribbons, birds’ wings, cetera, on her head; 
there was the prim, swift-gaited little hen, 
with lightenin’ movements; there was the 
willowy, wastin’-away, waistless, tightly- 
laced, fashionplate-designer’s dream; and 
last but not least, there was the sombre, 
funereal, serious-lookin’, husband-less variety 
that was just beginnin’ to take notice again. 

“ It was truly a droll aggregation, my dear 
fellow, each individual of the bunch havin’ 
his or her own idea of the width of the 
straight and narrow pathway that leads to 
the Mansions of the Blest. But what did I 
start in talkin’ about?” 

About the cause of your anger and about 
Donald the Brewer’s son,” answered The 
Thunderer’s irrepressible. 

‘VWal,” drawled the sea-dog, Jimmie 
Donald the Brewer stirred me up like an 
aggressive dog would stir up a bellicose cat. 
And to make the matter all the worse, his 
silly father took me down to the good room 
to get my opinion of Jimmie, for the old 
duffer though that Jimmie was a purty darn 
clever fellow. 

‘^^What should I make of him, Captain?’ 
he says. 


'' Seals 


99 


‘ He’s made now,’ I says, ^ that is,’ I says 
to myself, ‘ if makin’ a fool of a fellow is 
makin’ anything of him.’ 

“ ‘ You don’t tell me,’ says the poor old 
fellow, who came to the erroneous conclu- 
sion that I thought a whole heap of Jimmie, 
do tell you,’ I says. ‘ You made a fool 
of him long ago,’ I says. 

“ ‘ I suppose I did spoil him,’ he says, ^ but 
he is so very clever,’ he says. ‘ What should 
I make of him? ’ he says. 

‘ It doesn’t make any difference,’ I says. 

“ ^ Why? ’ he says. 

‘ Wal,’ I says, ^ sence you are bound to 
know my opinion,’ I says, ‘ I want to tell you 
that Jimmie is a first-class candidate for St. 
Jean Penitentiary,’ I says. 

‘‘‘How’s that?’ he says, bristlin’ up con- 
siderably. 

“ ‘ I’ll tell you,’ I says. ‘ Any fellow that 
would refuse to go out to the backwoods to 
cut firewood until his poor little lame sister 
should rip up the back of his old coat four 
or five inches to make it conform to the 
particular form of fashion idolatry in vogue 
in Little Frog Pond at the present time,’ I 
says, ‘ should be in St. Jean Penitentiary,’ I 
says, ‘ if he’s not there already,’ I says. 
‘ Why,’ I says, ‘ I’d wear out a whole side of 


100 


The Woman Hater 


sole-leather kickin’ that fellow from one end 
of the house to the other/ I says. ‘ I could 
forgive the daughter of a rural aristocrat 
for not wishin’ to call at a pig-sty with a dish 
containin’ the pig’s dinner unless she were 
attired in fashionable raiment/ I says, ^ al- 
though that would be bad enough/ I says; 
^ but that Jimmie of yours ! ’ I says. ^ He’s 
too up-to-date,’ I says; ^ fact, the only place 
up-to-date enough for him is a modern 
penitentiary,’ I says. 

‘ Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, insult- 
in’ an old man in his own house? ’ he says. 

^^^Wal/ I says, ‘if the truth about that 
young fashion-idolator disagrees with your 
stomach, I can’t help that/ I says; ‘you 
shouldn’t call for anything that’s on my bill 
of fare/ I says. 

“ ‘ I am surprised at you talkin’ indeed,’ 
he says. ‘You spent years in smugglin’ 
booze,’ he says, ‘ and in cheatin’ the govern- 
ment out of the duty on rum and tobacco,’ 
he says. 

“ ‘ I know I am an old sinner/ I says, ‘ but 
I want to tell you right here that I am a very 
picturesque old sinner,’ I says. ‘ As for 
Jimmie,’ I says, ‘ if I owned him/ I says, ‘ I 
wouldn’t even try to make a pig-feeder out 
of him, for I’d be afraid he’d spoil the pig/ 


Seals 


101 


I says; ^ so good-day to you, Donald, and good 
luck to the toe of your boot,’ I says, ‘ partic- 
ularly if it’s headin’ for Jimmie,’ I says, 
and I skin’d out of the house.” 

“ You were certainly good and sassy to 
the old fellow. Captain,” Bones ventured. 

“ Wal,” declared the sea-dog, “ a seal of 
the Jimmie-Donald-the-Brewer type would be 
enough to make a saint feel like cussin’.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


SWELL TIMES IN BIG FROG POND.*' 

After his return to Big Frog Pond, Cap- 
tain Roderick missed Mr. Bones greatly. It 
was therefore not surprising that The 
Thimderej^’s irrepressible should get such a 
warm welcome on his return from Sydney, 
a few days later. 

You got my curiosity aroused the other 
day, Captain? ’’ said Bones, and you haven’t 
satisfied it yet.” 

How? ” asked the sea-dog. 

Well, Captain,” his guest went on to ex- 
plain, you remember telling me the other 
day that when Mary Captain John succeeded 
in hustling your housekeeper out of the din- 
ing-room, you conceived a certain idea, which 
you said you had since carried out; and when 
I asked you what it was, you said you would 
tell me later on. But you didn’t tell me yet, 
and I am anxious to know.” 

Wal — Bones,” drawled the sea-dog, “ you 
102 


Swell Times In Big Frog Pond 103 

are as curious as any old woman in the 
country. But I must tell you all about that 
idea.” 

Mr. Bones then settled himself down in a 
comfortable armchair, and the smuggler thus 
proceeded, after having cleared his throat: 

“ I told you I felt so mighty ashamed of 
myself after the way I acted at that formal 
dinner, that I skin^d in to Sydney for a few 
days, to give time a chance to heal the 
wounds made in the vanity of my aristocratic 
housekeeper and in that of her ultra polite 
daughter. And while I am speakin’ of this 
matter, I want to mention that I left two 
visitors at my Big Frog Pond residence — the 
dashin’ Widow Captain John, and her charm- 
in’ daughter Mary. 

“ There was also, in the near neighbour- 
hood, a limb of the law know’d as Dannie 
Donald the Bad Man, with a purty face, in- 
sinuatin’ manners, good address, and all 
kinds of that commodity popularly know’d 
as gall. He was a purty darn decent young 
chap, though, and had the entree into all the 
leadin’ houses in Big Frog Pond. 

‘^As soon as he got me out of the way, 
therefore, my lad began visitin’ the girls, and 
I was told that the bunch got the old organ 
in the front room goin’, and fairly made the 


104 


The Woman Hater 


rafters in this old house creak with music 
and song. 

Mamie could play anything in the line of 
music from Starlight Waltz to Ruhenstein in 
F, whatuver that means, and as she had her 
eye on Dannie, she did all kinds of stunts 
to convince him how much superior she was 
to Mary Captain John, who was modest, un- 
assuming, and not the least aggressive. My 
aristocratic housekeeper came to the conclu- 
sion, too, that Dannie was just about the 
proper kind of a son-in-law to have, so she 
did not spare herself in the direction of side- 
trackin’ her daughter’s rival. 

“ The Widow Captain John also took quite 
a shine to Dannie, and rather liked the idea 
of that young brat cornin’ to the house uvery 
night, for although she would be very sorry 
to part with Mary, she was unselfish enough 
not to stand in the way of a good match. 

It’s a wonder those two widows didn’t 
scratch the eyes out of each other while I 
was away. The Widow Billie the Gentleman 
made no bones of her desire for a match be- 
tween Mamie and Dannie, while the Widow 
Captain John just laid low, dependin’ upon 
Dannie’s ultimate descernment of the supe- 
riority of her daughter over her daughter’s 
rival. 


Swell Times In Big Frog Pond ’’ 105 

.Wal — between them all, they paid Dannie 
Donald the Duvil so many sly complements 
about his good looks, about his cleverness, 
cetera, and fed him so much cake and other 
unsubstantial stuff, that the young pup got 
swelled up like a toad you’d throw salt on. 
He was fairly bu’stin’ with conceit when this 
old cat came home to have a look around to 
see how things were goin’. 

^ Swell times in Big Frog Pond since you 
left. Captain,’ he says to me. 

^ Yes? ’ I says. 

^ You bet your life,’ he says. ^ I was down 
to your house uvery evening after tea since 
you left,’ he says. 

^ Makin’ love to the girls, Dannie, I sup- 
pose? ’ I says, wishin’ to draw him out. 

“ ^ You bet,’ he says. • 

^ Wal,’ I says, ^ which one have you de- 
cided to have?’ I says. 

^ Can’t say,’ he says. 

^ Perhaps you are takin’ a notion to one 
of the widows?’ I says. 

‘ Indeed, I’m not,’ he says. 

‘ Wal — Dannie,’ I says, ^ which one of the 
girls is it to be? ’ 

^ Mary Captain John,’ he says, his eyes 
fairly shootin’ out of his head with delight. 

^ Do you think she’ll have you? ’ I says. 


106 


The Woman Hater 


^ Can’t say/ he says. ‘ I like her better 
than Mamie, who is too darn prim, besides 
havin’ too much to say,’ he says. 

^^^Wal,’ I says, admirin’ to myself the 
shrewd judgment of the kid, ^ I suppose you’ll 
be proposin’ one of these days,’ I says. 

^ If I thought I’d get along well after 
gettin’ through law next year, I’d propose 
at onct,’ he says. 

^^Wal — I sized that up as a feeler — you 
know I paid that brat’s way through college, 
and he talks to me like a sick child to its 
mother. I was tickled all to pieces, too, 
about the matter of his takin’ a shine to 
Mary, who was a girl in ten thousand; but I 
know’d that young pup was as fickle as the 
winds that blow, and I didn’t propose to 
encourage him into negotiatin’ an engage- 
ment with Mary which might be broken for 
the first smooth-tongued girl that came 
along, so I came down on poor, misfortunate 
Dannie like the thousand of bricks in the 
proverb. 

“ ^ You said if you thought you’d get along 
well after gettin’ through law, you’d get 
engaged to Mary, if she’d have you? ’ I says. 

“ ^ You bet your life I would,’ he says. 

^ Wal — Dannie,’ I says, ^ you must admit 
that I used you purty darn well since I took 


Swell Times In Big Frog Pond ” 107 

a hold of you some years ago and pushed you 
through college.’ 

^ Indeed you have, Captain,’ he says, with 
a look of gratitude in his face that knocked 
some of the sting off what I had intended to 
say to him. 

“ ^ Wal — then,’ I says, ^ I have been scuffin’ 
about this old world for many a day, and 
I want to tell you that it’s no paradise. It’s 
a place where a fellow has to earn the bread 
he eats with the sweat of his brow, whether 
that sweat be figurative, or literally oozin’ 
out from underneath his hat. I am goin’ to 
shove you right through the mill, but the 
day you get admitted to the Bar of Nova 
Scotia, I intend to cut the tow-line and let 
you poke along the very best way you know’ 
how. 

‘ Now, let me analyze your prospects,’ I 
says. ‘ You are good-lookin’, and I want to 
say right here that your good looks is the 
greatest drawback you can have. Clients 
won’t come to you because you happen to be 
burdened with a correct profile and classic 
regularity of feature, for when people want 
an animal to guard their property, they do 
not go out and buy a fancy pup that has 
nuver done anything but frisk around a 
parlour; they buy an ugly old bull-dog with 


108 


The Woman Hater 


its face all scarred from bein’ up against 
tough propositions. 

A purty pup, all decorated with ribbon, 
may be all right followin’ an outfit of silly 
girls to a birthday party, but when it comes 
to guardin’ a man’s valuable property, give 
me the ugly bull-dog uvery time. A purty 
lawyer may be all right as an escort at a five 
o’clock tea, particularly if he’s young, but 
when it comes to scrappin’ in court, to makin’ 
an unwillin’ witness cough up his story, or 
makin’ a liar contradict himself, you want 
the ugly old fighter with the growl. 

“ You may develop into a bull-dog after 
a while, but as yet you are only a raw, good- 
lookin’ pup with drawin’-room accomplish- 
ments and a tenor squeak instead of a bark. 
People that want to retain the services of a 
lawyer won’t ask how popular he is with the 
girls, or if he is good-lookin’, or if his clothes 
are in unison with the latest fad. 

No, Dannie Donald the Duvil; that’s as 
sure as you are a foot high! But they will 
ask: Is he a hustler? Can he be relied upon? 
Will he work all day and all night in a pinch? 
Can he tell the difference between the broad- 
side from a man-o’-war and the bluff-toot of 
a fog-horn? And if he can scent a bluff, has 
he got the necessary backbone to stand up 


Swell Times In Big Frog Pond 109 

and call that bluff? These are some of the 
specifications you are required to fill before 
you can think of askin’ any girl to let you 
make her miserable life more miserable. 

“ Do you think you are able to fill them 
now? I hope not, for if you do, your case is 
hopeless. But if you don’t — and I believe 
you have enough of good sense in your make- 
up to convince you that you don’t — then keep 
away from girls like Mary Captain John. 
She’s a mighty fine girl that, and I want to 
say right here that it would be a shame to see 
her hitched up in a marriage tandem with 
a pup of your dimensions on the lead,’ I 
says. 

^ Wait until you are knee-high to an 
ordinary grasshopper before thinkin’ of 
hitchin’ up,’ I says ; ^ wait until you can earn 
an honest dollar or two,’ I says; ‘ wait until 
you have frozen on to enough money over 
livin’ expenses to buy a ton of coal or a load 
of wood,’ I says; ^ nay, more, wait until you 
are in a position to offer some nice virtuous 
young girl a home accordin’ to her station in 
life,’ I says, ^ and then, if Mary Captain John 
is around, you can step up to her man- 
fashion and ask her if she’d have any partic- 
ular objections to acceptin’ an honest man’s 
love. But keep your pup-love for your law 


ilO The Woman Hater 

books/ I says, ^ until you absorb enough of 
them to make you regarded as a full-grown 
dog: 

“ Wal — Bones, that took all the starch out 
of poor Dannie Donald the Bad Man, and 
made him as limp as a rag. If I didn’t like 
him mighty well, and if I didn’t have an eye 
on Mary Captain John as a wife for him, I’d 
have given him a sort of an evasive answer. 
But I wanted to see them hitched up, and I 
didn’t want to run the risk of havin’ Mary 
gettin’ completely disgusted with him before 
he got full-fledged. 

I know’d that if I could keep him in his 
place by thumpin’ the conceit out of him as 
it accumulated, I might be able to make 
something out of him, so I thumped good and 
hard. I know’d well enough, too, that the 
young brat would get married sooner or 
later, and as gettin’ married is the next best 
thing to remainin’ single, I decided to prevent 
Dannie from hitchin’ up with one of those 
dreamy, languid, cawn’t-do-without-a-servant 
aggregations of laziness with extravagant 
habits and a bad temper. 

They can smile as sweetly as a teaspoon- 
ful of honey and they can talk as softly as 
an evening zephyr when they’re encouragin’ 
a poor duvil to fall in love with them; but 


Swell Times In Big Frog Pond ” 111 

they^re twice as fatal to a man^s happiness 
as a dose of carbolic! 

Of course, it was no use to give Dannie 
any pointers on the cussedness of the old 
and well-know’d sex. He wouldnH listen to 
pointers on cussedness. He didn’t see enough 
of life to know that he could work himself to 
death for one of those cussed creatures, and 
she’d simply raise the very Old Nick because 
her hat was three-quarters of an inch nar- 
rower than Mrs. John H. Rival’s hat, if wide 
hats should happen to be the particular form 
of fashion-idolatry in vogue at the time. He 
didn’t know that if he happened to break 
down in health and go bu’st financially that 
instead of sympathizin’ with him, one of 
those cussed creatures would go out among 
the neighbours lookin’ for sympathy on the 
mistake she made in marryin’ him. 

^ Poor thing,’ some of them would say, 
for you’ll find people that would shed a tear 
over the duvil himself. 

“ ^ Yes,’ she would say, ^ if I had only 
married half a man instead of Dannie Donald 
the Bad Man, I’d be all right. It’s bad luck 
that’s followin’ the son of a man supposed to 
be in league with Old Scratch.’ 

“ But Mary Captain John wasn’t of the 
cussed variety, for I know’d that if Dannie 


112 


The Woman Hater 


should happen to break down in health and 
go bu’st financially, he^d be a darn lucky 
fellow to have Mary Captain John for a wife. 
She wouldn’t say she wasn’t married to half 
a man — that she only married an infernal 
lobster. She would simply put her loyal 
arms around his throat and say: 

“ ^ Nuver mind, dearie. I’d be happy any' 
where with you. We can easily make an^ 
other start in life. I can do with all the 
purty clothes you gave me for a year or more. 
I can teach music, we can take a few 
boarders, and we can easily keep the house 
goin’ until you are well again, so don’t be 
discouraged, dearie. You were so good and 
kind to me — you nuver thought of yourself; 
and now all your little girl wants is a chance 
to prove her love for you.’ 

That’s the kind of a speech that Mary 
would jolly Dannie along with, and I’ll bet 
you she would have him on his feet again 
inside of a year. Besides, if her eyes 
developed a tendency to distill liquid, she 
would go somewhere by herself three or four 
times a day and pump them dry cryin’, so 
that Dannie wouldn’t know that she shed as 
much as a single drop of tears.” 

“ How did Dannie and Mary size up as re- 
gards looks? ” asked the reporter. 


“ Swell Times In Big Frog Pond 113 

drawled the smuggler, Dannie 
was about five feet eight in his sock feet, was 
rather sturdy in appearance, and his face 
was as handsome as you’d see in a day’s 
travel. Brown eyes, rosy cheeks, black hair! 
He was quite a fine specimen, I tell you, and 
I know’d that if I could only get him over his 
pup-like proclivities, he would be the makin’s 
of a mighty fine fellow. 

Mary was different. She was nearly as 
tall as Dannie, but her hair was golden and 
her eyes were blue — a frank, open, honest 
blue that let the light of a beautiful soul 
shine right out at a fellow. Fact, she was 
the most guileless and single-hearted crea- 
ture I uver came across. 

She know’d what it was to have to 
economize, and she had an uncommonly large 
share of that mighty rare commodity know’d 
as common sense. But the beauty of it all, 
my dear friend, was that she was a Cape 
Breton girl — born right here in Big Frog 
Pond. Her father was Captain of the 
Blomidon; he died in Halifax, and his widow 
has been keepin’ boarders there for a livin’ 
uver since his death.” 

How did Dannie take what you said 
about his prospects of getting Mary?” was 
The Thunderer’s next question. 


114 


The Woman Hater 


He started to arg’ the point. ^ Constant 
attentions/ he says, ‘will win almost any 
girPs heart,’ he says, ‘ and I believe it would 
only take a few more visits to your residence/ 
he says, ‘ and a few more boxes of chocolates 
to land Mary’s heart,’ he says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ I says, ‘ I object to your spendin’ 
the money I gave you for your education in 
chocolates for the girls/ I says, ‘ and I want 
to tell you right here that unless you are 
purty darn careful. I’ll shut off your allow- 
ance entirely, and let you get out and rustle 
for the cash to pay the rest of your way 
through college,’ I says. 

“ ‘ A barrel of chocolates dished out to a 
girl in two-pound boxes a couple of times a 
week for a year, forty or fifty theatre tickets, 
thirty or forty boquets, cetera, may succeed 
in disgustin’ a girl into thinkin’ she loves a 
chocolate-philanthropist, but the poor, mis- 
fortunate fellow usually finds that he’s got 
a mighty worthless brand of the much- 
talked-of commodity called love,’ I says; 
‘ and then,’ I says, ‘ the boquet-king usually 
has to develop into a kissin’-bug to keep that 
variety of wife from bein’ ultra sassy to him/ 
I says. 

“ ‘ I remember bein’ invited out to tea one 
evening/ I says, ‘by a fellow who married 


Swell Times In Big Frog Pond 115 

that variety of girl, and as we entered the 
house together, his wife met us at the door. 
He passed in ahead of me, and I followed 
him. 

^ I noticed she looked mighty disap- 
pointed over something — at least, she began 
to cut up shines at onct, for, to make a long 
story short, if she received her trainin^ in the 
lower regions, she couldn^t possibly have 
acted the demon better,’ I says. ‘ She raved, 
and sassed, and kicked up dust until I didn’t 
know whether I was standin’ on my head or 
my heels. I thought she was mad at him for 
bringin’ me around — you know women some- 
times take that kind of a kink — and when I 
got a good chance, I says to him: “What’s 
the matter, Billie? ” “ Not much,” he says, 
thoroughly ashamed of the way things were 
goin’. “ I didn’t kiss her when I came home,” 
he says, and I bu’sted out laughin’. “ Wal,” I 
says, “ if that’s all,” I says, “ call her over to 
where you are for the purpose of whisperin’ 
something in her ear,” I says, “ and give her 
a good smack,” I says. He did call her over. 
“ Come here, dearie,” he says, “ until I 
whisper something,” he says; “I forgot — 
and with that he gave her a smack of his 
mouth loud enough to rattle the dishes on 
the sideboard,’ I says. 


116 


The Woman Hater 


^<^Wal — the effect was instantaneous. 
Her face broke into smiles ; her voice lost its 
broken-saucer ring; fact, she became sud- 
denly transformed from a veritable little 
demon into a thing of beauty and a joy for- 
uver, to use the well-know’d slang of the 
poet. Now, you see, Dannie, how the poor 
duvil fared that I lent many’s a dollar to 
until pay-day to buy chocolates for that very 
girl,’ I says. ‘ It’s not altogether the 
chocolates,’ I says ; ^ it’s the girl with the pro- 
clivity for demandin’ attentions,’ I says. 

‘ If you thoroughly respect and admire a 
girl for her good qualities, cetera,’ I says, 

‘ and if you are in a position to support a wife 
and are anxious to settle down and get 
married,’ I says, ‘ go to the girl and say: ‘‘1 
think an infernal pile of you,” if that’s the 
conventional slang of the game, and if she’s 
worth havin’, she’ll have you without bein’ 
fed on chocolates, cetera, until her stomach’s 
upset and her complexion’s gone. But under- 
stand me, Dannie,’ I says. ^ I don’t want to 
keep you from makin’ a fool of yourself if 
you enjoy bein’ one. I rather like your style 
of pup, for if you are careful, you can develop 
into something yet,’ I says. 

“ ^ You are very fortunate in havin’ Donald 
the Duvil for your father,’ I says, ‘for a 


Swell Times In Big Frog Pond 117 

lawyer is just what the people would expect 
his only son to be. You know the people have 
got into the habit of lookin’ upon your father 
as bein’ more or less in league with the 
powers of darkness on account of his nick- 
name,’ I says, ‘ which will help the Big Frog 
Pond end of your practice,’ I says, ‘ for there 
is hardly an old woman in the whole neigh- 
bourhood who will believe that a lawyer will 
go to heaven, particularly a son of Donald 
the Bad Man,’ I says; ‘but as I don’t want 
you to miss what you are pleased to call swell 
times in Big Frog' Pond, Dannie,’ I says, ‘ I’ll 
be expectin’ you in to-night again,’ I says.” 

“ Did he come. Captain? ” 

“ Wal — I should say he did! ” 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE PHILOSOPHY OF STYLE. 

As Mr. Bones had a sympathetic ear, 
nothing pleased him better than to sit listen- 
ing to Captain Roderick,, especially when 
the latter happened to be relating his ex- 
periences or to be giving his views on the 
great questions of the day. Particularly in- 
teresting to the reporter was the smuggler’s 
account of his experiences with the young 
law student. After tea that evening, there- 
fore, the genial guest was quite ready to hear 
more from his host of Dannie Donald the 
Bad Man, and it did not take him long to get 
Captain Roderick going on Dannie as a topic, 
although the philosopher showed a marked 
tendency to wander away from his subject 
on to side issues which, he seemed to think, 
were of greater importance. 

How did Dannie get along that night? 
asked Bones. 

^^Wal,” drawled the Sage of Big Frog 
Pond, when I got home the women were 
discussin’ the fashions, and if there is one 
118 


iThe Philosophy Of Style 


119 


subject more than another that I like to get 
them goin’ on, it is the subject of fashions. 
Of course, they are purty darn good on the 
servant girl problem, and on the shortcom- 
ings of their neighbours ; but they wax partic- 
ularly eloquent on the latest styles in hats, 
dresses, cetera. It’s amusin’ to watch the 
peculiar keenness noticeable in their faces 
when they get chewin’ their cuds over what’s 
doin’ in the hat line or in the dress line. But 
that ain’t neither here nor there. 

When I got into the house after knockin’ 
the sawdust out of the artificial dog Dannie 
Donald the Duvil had imagined himself to 
be, the women were all huddled up around 
the fire in this very room, like a crowd of wet 
hens, and my appeaance caused a slight 
flurry amongst them. 

^ Glad to see you back. Captain,’ they 
says to me, but I was inclined to doubt their 
word. As I didn’t have very much evidence 
that they weren’t glad, howuver, I let it go 
at that. 

I was sure that Mary Captain John was 
glad to see me back, for she jumped up to 
help me off with my overcoat. ‘ I know your 
hands are cold,’ she says, ‘after drivin’^so 
far,’ she says, ‘ so if you’ll let me. Captain, 
I’ll open the buttons of your overcoat.’ 


120 


The Woman Hater 


Thoughtful, wasn’t she? Wal — I should 
say she was. But I ain’t used to such atten- 
tions, and while I’d resent such a suggestion 
from any other daughter of Eve, I rather 
liked this particular one for Dannie’s sake, 
so I says: 

“ ‘ Nuver mind,’ I says, ^ I’m quite able to 
handle the old coat myself, thank you, Mary,’ 
I says, so she resumed her seat. ‘ Go on with 
your gossip, women,’ I then said to them. 
‘ Don’t mind me," I says. 

“ That was sufficient. The tension was re- 
leased and the conversation began again with 
Mamie on the floor. Wal — ^you should have 
beared her. She had apparently just started 
in talkin’ about brides’ dresses and brides- 
maids’ dresses when I came on the scene, for 
the Widow Captain John says: 

^ Continue your description of the co- 
quetries for bridesmaids’ gowns.’ 

^ Wal,’ says Mamie, ^ I told you the waist 
was of cream-white point d’esprit over taffeta 
linin’ of the same shade, with bertha of point 
de Venise to match.’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’ says my aristocratic housekeeper. 
^ Pointed yoke-band, I suppose? ’ she says. 

“ ^ Yes,’ says Mamie, ^ and sleeve-bands of 
delicate cream-coloured appliqud lace. Four- 
piece Empire skirt of cream-white cr^pe de 


The Philosophy Of Style 


121 


Chine made in sweep length and trimmed 
with three groups of tucks.^ 

‘^‘How charming’ says the Widow Cap- 
tain John. ^ And what did you say was all 
the rage for brides?^ she says. 

“ ^ Princess gown of white messaline/ 
Mamie repeated, ^ with appliqud trimmin’ of 
Princess lace runnin’ to a point in the middle 
of the back. Puffed undersleeves of white 
chiffon; ruffles of Princess lace, with inser- 
tion and deep arm-bands to correspond,’ she 
says. 

Needless to say, old chap, I was com- 
pletely flabbergasted. I was mad, too, for it 
began to dawn on me that the whole outfit 
had their eyes on Dannie Donald the Bad 
Man. You know it looked mighty much like 
gettin’ down to business when the old hens 
were so interested in bridal gowns and 
bridesmaids’ dresses. 

“ I liked Dannie, and I was bound that 
there would be no such thing as a conspiracy 
for an alliance with my protdgd in which I 
did not have a hand, so I hit right out from 
the shoulder by askin’ Mamie to translate the 
slang of the worshippers of the fickle goddess 
into ordinary English so that I could take in 
the latest specifications for bridal raiment. 
But she was unable to do so, she said, owin’ 


122 


The Woman Hater 


to the fact that the slang of the idolaters 
had become current speech in the old and 
well-know’d Kingdom of Fashion. 

^^Wal — I was in purty darn good talkin’ 
humour, so I gave that outfit some pointers 
that weren’t point de Chine or point d’ esprit. 

^ The world has gone mad on one point,’ 
I says, ^ and that point is raiment,’ I says. 
^ The majority of your sex have an insatiable 
vanity in the matter of dress — a cravin’ for 
new clothes, for purty clothes, for clothes a 
little better and clothes a little different 
from somebody else’s clothes; and on this 
vanity, this insatiable greed for fantastic 
raiment, the fashion manipulators play al- 
most uvery imaginable kind of tune. It’s 
quare, but it’s true,’ I says. 

^ New styles are started in Paris this 
year, and they soak all the ways down 
through the warp and woof of human society, 
settin’ the female portion of the human 
species mad, until they finally reach Big Frog 
Pond, about two years hence. Onct hoops 
were all the vogue, but womenkind soon got 
tired of lookin’ like movin’ molasses pun- 
cheons, so the fashion manipulators com- 
promised on that abomination know’d as 
bustles. These in turn gave way to one 
abomination after another until the female 


The Philosophy Of Style 


123 


portion of the human race succeeded in 
imitatin’ all the varieties of form from that 
of a wasj) to that of a kangaroo/ I says. 

“ ^ They crave for a change/ I says, ^ and 
the shell-and-pea, now-you-see-it-and-now- 
you-don’t-see-it manipulators of fashion 
give it to them uvery time. They have to pay 
for it, howuver, that is, of course, if they 
can’t get it on credit,’ I says. 

“ ^ One year,’ I says, ^ green is all the rage; 
next year, it is gray. One season broad- 
brimmed hats howl for recognition, and up 
goes the price of straw; another season, nar- 
row hats are the vogue, and the corner on 
straw is broken; next season, hats droop like 
weepin’ willows over a grave, and cast a 
gloom over the whole country; while next 
season, hats assume the shape of a sou’- 
wester or of a coal-scuttle or of a soup tureen 
turned upside down/ I says, ^ makin’ uver- 
body feel like bu’stin’ out laughin’/ I says. 
‘ But,’ I says, ^ the hat business got a cold 
chill sent down its old and well-know’d back 
when a gang of purty darn sensible women 
started the bare-head craze which was noth- 
ing more or less than a boycott on the hat 
business. Even the worm will turn occa- 
sionally/ I says, ^ particularly when it’s 
pinched good and hard/ I says, ^and al- 


124 


The Woman Hater 


though some uncharitable people were bold 
enough to say that the bare-head craze was 
the outcome of a limited purse, I rather think 
it was more or less the result of a rebellion 
brought about by an enraged common sense,’ 
I says. 

“ ^ But,’ says Mamie, quite anxious to shift 
the subject, I could see, ‘ men are just as bad 
as women when it comes to chasin’ after a 
new style,’ she says. 

^ They are as bad,’ I says, ^ that is,’ I says, 
^ if they ain’t worse. One season it’s a long 
coat; next, it’s a monkey jacket; next, it’s a 
jacket with a split half way up the back. 
Then, there is the low vest followed by a 
high vest, and the broad, flat hat followed by 
the round, turned-up hat,’ I says. ‘ But,’ I 
says, ^ I want to point out one thing you’ll 
notice runnin’ through the whole game, and 
it is this: the fashion of one season is in 
sharp contrast to that of the season im- 
mediately precedin’ it.’ 

« < Why? ’ says one of the women. 

^^^Wal,’ I says, ^ I’ll tell you why. It’s 
because the manipulators wish to have 
people discard old-style hats, caps, and rai- 
ment for some new abomination by makin’ 
the new abomination conspicuous. It’s 
covetousness — greed for the dollar bill!’ I 


125 


The Philosophy Of Style 

says. ^ People haven’t got the backbone to 
resist, particularly the women,’ I says, ' but 
they nearly all dance to the latest tune of 
the fashion jugglers as if they were manipu- 
lated by a piece of elastic like the dancin’ 
men we used to make out of cardboard when 
we were kids,’ I says. 

^ They might like to do some kickin’, but 
let any new kind of fashion-worship come 
into vogue,’ I says, ^ and down the majority 
of the people will get on their callous knees 
to adore it. Just let a fashion thug set a 
new craze a-goin’,’ I says, ‘ and your ears will 
at onct be filled with the clickin’ of thou- 
sands of censors as the worshippers offer up 
incense to the fickle goddess,’ I says. 

‘ People haven’t got the necessary back- 
bone to resist the new species of idolatry,’ I 
says. ^ Why, the average woman would 
rather be accused of the heinous crime of 
murder than the more heinous crime of bein’ 
out of the style. It’s a species of crime no 
w’oman will be guilty of if she can help it,’ I 
says. 

‘ Talk about your gold-brick men,’ I says, 

^ your confidence men, your thugs, your high- 
waymen,’ I says, ^ but none of them can hold 
a candle to the fashion manipulator. He is 
the criminal par excellence of to-day,’ I says. 


126 


The Woman Hater 


^ and there should be a code of laws enacted 
prescribin’ a national dress and makin’ it a 
criminal offense to degrade poor people, or to 
attempt to degrade poor people, into cravin’ 
for variations of this disgustin’ kind of 
idolatry know’d as fashion-worship,’ I says. 
^ Talk about your dry throat after an over- 
indulgence in alcoholic stimulant,’ I says. 
^ It ain’t in it with the craze for the latest 
style of raiment.’ 

‘ I can almost see His Koyal Highness, 
Monsieur John Hector Styles, King of Fash- 
ion and Emperor of the Kingdom of Fools, 
with headquarters in the city of Paris, busy 
with a lead pencil creatin’ fads for the 
elegantes of the world for the cornin’ summer 
season,’ I says. ^ He begins a year ahead,’ I 
says, ^ and he usually has purty darn hard 
work thinkin’ out something that will so 
sharply contrast with what was worn the 
season before that the worshippers will be 
ashamed to appear out in their last season’s 
raiment. How will that do for the fools, 
for one thing? ” he says to a representative 
of the Factories Syndicate, some years ago. 
‘‘How’ll what do?” says his friend. “Cos- 
tume of pearl-gray pong^, skirt untrimmed, 
long jacket covered with vermicelli soutache 
of same colour, hat of sage green trimmed 


The Philosophy Of Style 


127 


with aigrettes of same shade. I think that 
toilette extremely chic,” he says. “Wal,” 
says the Syndicate man, holdin’ his hands up 
in holy horror, “ I rather like it on general 
principles, but it is too near like what was 
worn the year before last, and I assure Your 
Fashionable Highness that the trade can’t 
stand the resurrection of old dresses that 
were worn the year before last. The con- 
trast isn’t sharp enough. Give us sweepin’ 
changes all around for the fools,” he says. 
So, His Fashionable Highness had to crawl 
down and create something startlin’ to keep 
the fools of the kingdom trottin’ along at the 
usual brisk pace; and although in so doin’ he 
violated all the canons of his fickle art, he 
succeeded in creatin’ a veritable outrage 
which took the Kingdom of Fools by storm. 

Sales were nuver as large,” says the whole- 
sale trade; orders came in so fast from our 
ordinary, stick-in-the-mud-and-stay, five-per- 
cent men that the factories had to work 
double shift to supply the idolaters, and 
were the orders not taken six months ahead 
of the actual season, we couldn’t supply one- 
half the demand.” 

^ It was truly wonderful how the retailers 
disposed of tons of the new abomination,’ I 
says, ^ for the fools of the Kingdom took to 


128 


The Woman Hater 


it like a hungry cat would take to fresh fish, 
and if there is one thing more than another 
that stirs up the ambition of a cat’s stomach, 
it’s fresh fish.’ 

You’re too hard on His Fashionable 
Highness,’ says Mamie. 

^ I’m not,’ I says, ^ for he’s the arch 
criminal of to-day,’ I says, ^ and if a Bill 
entitled An Act to Bring People to Their Senses 
irt the Matter of Clothing^ providin’ for a 
national costume for men and women, were 
introduced into the legislature of Nova 
Scotia,’ I says, ^it’d have my most cordial 
support,’ I says. 

^^Wal — Mamie didn’t like the idea, but 
Mary Captain John did, and I want to say 
right here that Mary had more good old- 
fashioned common sense in her little finger 
than Mamie had in her whole carcass. 

^ That’s right. Captain,’ she says. 
^ You’re right there. Why,’ she says, ^ the 
benighted Oriental is away ahead of us in 
regard to clothes. In the Orient the style 
has been the same for over two thousand 
years, and yet we think we are so mighty 
smart right here in the noonday blaze of 
Anglo-Saxon civilization. In the Orient the 
styles for women are simple and their cos- 
tmmes are modest, but here most of the 


The Philosophy Of Style 


129 


fashionable costumes are elaborate and a 
great many of them are literally disgustin’,^ 
she says. ‘ Not so,’ she says, ^ in the good 
old days in Scotland, when the only variation 
in the Highland costume was the plaid of 
the clan. Then it did not make any dif- 
ference as long as the heart was good and 
true, but now,’ she says — and she stopped to 
think, which gave me a chance to say: 

“ ^ But now, men and women must be 
attired in the latest freak of the fashion 
thug; otherwise,’ I says, ‘ they are liable to 
receive suspicious glances from the police 
and sarcastic smiles from their fellow fools 
of the Kingdom,’ I says. ‘ You’re right there, 
Mary, about our Highland ancestors,’ I says ; 
^ they would scorn the clothing of their 
degenerate descendants. Just think what 
one of them would say if he should happen 
to drop down in Big Frog Pond with its 
youth lookin’ like a page in the catalogue of 
a departmental store,’ I says. 

^ In my time the boys used to fight for 
pastime, but now they look over the pages of 
the latest catalogue of raiment for amuse- 
ment, and their eyes are so used to lookin’ in 
the grooves of fashion that they can detect 
the slightest variation from the chic k-la- 
mode-ness of any given style,’ I says. 


130 


The Woman Hater 


^ The world has gone mad on the subject 
of dress/ I says, ^particularly the women, ^ 
I says, ‘for things are after comin^ to such 
a pass that one woman will hardly be civil 
to another unless she is dressed along the 
latest lines of the arch criminal. Why, if a 
woman whose attire, although decent, is 
not k la mode, should find herself in the 
company of half a dozen up-to-date idolaters 
of the female sex, she’d soon realize that 
she’d be as unwelcome as a chunk of ice 
shoved down the back of your neck. Indeed, 
if she had leprosy germs in her hat, she 
couldn’t be less wanted. She would be as 
irreconcilable to her surroundin’s as a pug- 
nacious dog would be to half a dozen cats,’ 
I says. 

“ ‘ Men are bad enough, but not quite that 
bad,’ I says. ‘ Of course, there’s Donald with 
the proclivity for havin’ his coat ripped up 
the back, and Donald with a loanin’ towards 
the new hand-shake; but then, if Donald 
with the elbows out of his coat, should find 
himself among half a dozen fashionable 
Donalds, and if he’s a jolly good fellow, ten 
to one they’ll hit him on the back until his 
old coat will cough up all its dust,’ I says, 
‘ and will laugh at his jokes until they kick 
the toes out of their shoes. They would be 


fCh'e Philosophy Of Style 131 

blind to his peculiar absence of style,’ I 

says.’’ 

^^You started to tell me how Dannie 
Donald the Bad Man got along the first night 
after your return from Sydney,” Mr. Bones 
interrupted. 

''Did I?” 

"Yes, you did, Captain.” 

"Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, "when Dan- 
nie came that night, he got a royal welcome. 
'Awfully glad you came,’ 'We were just 
wishin’ that you’d come,’ were some of the 
nice things they said to that half-grown dog. 
But he was so mighty subdued that they 
soon began to wonder what the trouble was. 

" ' What’s the matter, Dannie? ’ says 
Mamie. ' You’re unusually quiet to-night,’ 
she says. 

" ' Why, yes,’ says Mamie’s mother. 

" They didn’t know that I’d been givin’ 
Dannie a bit of my mind, but if they only got 
a peep at his vanity, they’d have seen some 
nice, well-merited black stripes that took 
some of the pup-like friskiness out of Dannie 
and made him feel that if he waited long 
enough, he’d develop into a purty darn useful 
fellow. I felt kind of sorry for the poor 
duvil, though, but I liked him too well to see 
him grow into a failure, so I didn’t spare the 


132 


The Woman Hater 


switch whenuver I found it conducive to my 
protdgd’s spiritual or temporal well-being to 
use it generously.’’ 

I am afraid you were a little too hard on 
poor Dannie Donald the Bad Man,” Bones 
ventured. 

‘‘ That depends,” said the sea-dog. '' You 
know there’s nothing so good for a young 
fellow as a few swift knocks. It prevents a 
great many castles from gettin’ into his head, 
and has a tendency to keep him from allowin’ 
bees to buzz around inside of his hat. 

Of course, if I wanted Dannie to develop 
into an ornament, I’d have tied a piece of 
pink ribbon around his neck, and while I 
wouldn’t be teachin’ him to purr, I’d be train- 
in’ him to look pleasant whenuver any one 
called Piissie. But I wanted Dannie to de- 
velop into a bull-dog, so I nuver missed an 
opportunity of givin’ him a cut of the whip 
whenuver he showed any tendency to frisk 
instead of holdin’ out his paw. 

Take poor Billie the Girl for example. 
He was brought up to wash dishes, cetera, 
and was protected from all kinds of hard 
knocks until he developed about as much 
backbone as a piece of cotton. If his teacher 
was unkind to Billie, the misfortunate fellow 
was allowed to stay home, and if the other 


133 


The Philosophy Of Style 

boys poked fun at his curls, he was escorted 
to and from school. It was nothing but — 
‘ Poor Billie’s so sensitive, and he’s so gentle, 
and he’s so refined! ’ 

^^Wal — he developed such womanish pro- 
clivities that he soon became know’d as Billie 
the Girl. He could cry and pout; fact, he 
was a post-graduate in the art of sulkin’. 
But he was only good for doin’ such stunts 
as pickin’ berries, talkin’ botany, cetera, 
when he could have been made into a mighty 
useful citizen. The fellow was mighty clever, 
too, in some respects. 

Kow, Dannie was a trifle conceited about 
his good looks, and was just beginnin’ to 
think that he was a little better than any- 
body else, so I kept clinchin’ the rivits, where 
the conceit bubbled out, with a sledge-ham- 
mer. What I aimed at principally was 
Dannie’s pup-like cussedness in thinkin’ that 
he could pay attention to half a dozen girls 
at the same time. 

That was where his inexperience was 
croppin’ out. I know’d well enough that he’d 
find out some time or another that one of the 
cussed creatures would demand as much 
attention as he could afford to pay to any 
human being. But it wasn’t any kindness to 
allow him to wait until he found out for him- 


134 


The Woman Hater 


self. I wanted him to know a thing or two 
early in the game, so I plied the switch 
vigorously, always adjusting the blows to the 
thickness of the skin between Dannie’s 
shoulders,’^ 


V 


CHAPTER VIIL 


THOSE LESSONS. 

Before retiring at night, Captain Roderick 
usually went out to the stable to see that his 
horse had been made comfortable, and it ap- 
pears that on this particular night, when he 
was returning to the house, he slipped and 
slightly injured his ankle, with the result 
that he had to remain in bed for a couple of 
days. Mr. Bones offered to sit up with him, 
but he would not listen to such a proposal. 
The Thunderer’s irrepressible spent all the 
next day in his room, however, and as he was 
in exceptionally good talking humour, and 
not suffering any pain, he told the reporter 
all about the queer story that had got around 
about his taking lessons in etiquette and 
dancing from Mamie Widow Billie the 
Gentleman, B. A. 

“ You never finished telling me how that 
story got started about Mamie Widow Billie 
giving you pointers in etiquette and dancing, 
135 


136 


The Woman Hater 


Captain? ” was the way Mr. Bones broached 
the subject. 

‘^Wal — no,” the smuggler acknowledged, 
and it makes my blood simmer uvery time 
I think of the way the laugh was turned on 
me about those misfortunate lessons, for 
after the Widow Captain John and her 
daughter Mary returned to Halifax, Mamie 
began givin’ me more pointers on how to be- 
have myself. 

She took up several topics, among them 
that of Shopping She had a whole lot of 
Don’ts about purchasin^ ^ If the article 
doesn^t suit you, don’t take it,’ she says. ‘ If 
it is too dear,’ she says, ‘ and you want 
something cheaper, don’t hesitate to ask for 
it. If the price seems too dear, don’t start 
in runnin’ down the article. Kemember that 
Thanh you and Please are easily said, so don’t 
hesitate to say them. Don’t haggle over the 
price of any given article, cetera,’ she says. 

“Wal — I let her go on in that way for a 
while, then I decided it was about time to 
bring her to her senses. ‘ See here, Mamie,’ 
I says, ‘ it ain’t no use tryin’ your decoction 
of Dont’s on me. There is only one Don’t in 
purchasin’, and that is. Don’t let the other 
fellow get ahead of you’ I says. 

‘ As for the counter-hoppers, cetera, why, 


Those Lessons 


137 


they don’t care a fig how sassy you are, pro- 
vidin’ you have a full purse. A full purse 
or a large bank account Is just the kind of 
sass they want to get up against. I was poor 
onct,’ I says, ‘ and I want to say right here 
that there was mighty little fuss made about 
me by the shop people then. But now, they 
bow like pasteboard jumpin’-jacks uvery time 
I appear on the scene. If your purse is lean, 
you couldn’t work them for a paper of pins; 
but if it’s fat, you could be as sassy as you 
like, and they’d sell you anything in the shop. 
It’s the dollar-bill ends stickin’ out of your 
purse that makes the difference. That’s the 
philosophy of it,’ I says. 

^ J ust go out into the world and tell your 
friends that you are broke,’ I says, ^ and 
you’ll see them dodgin’ behind fences, disap- 
pearin’ around corners, and crossin’ to the 
opposite side of the street,’ I says, ‘ for if 
there’s one man more than another that isn’t 
popular it’s the man with a vacancy in his 
pocket and a blank note of hand in his fist,’ 
I says. 

^ The welcome you get in a store doesn’t 
depend on the number of polite things you 
can work off the end of your tongue,’ I says, 
^ but it does depend on the number of dollars 
you can jingle in your pocket or rattle in 


138 


The Woman Hater 


your bank account/ I says, ^ but donH let me 
interrupt your lecture, Mamie,’ I says, so she 
proceeded. 

“Wal — that evening I took a stroll to- 
wards the outskirts, as usual, and I saw a 
quare look in the faces of those I met. I 
know’d something was in the air; fact, I 
could almost feel that something unusual had 
happened, for the people I met had a quare 
expression in their eyes, and on their faces, 
as if a little that was inside their curious 
souls began to soak through, or to leak out. 
I know’d it was about myself, but I couldn’t 
imagine what it was, for the look was half- 
contemptuous, half-disgusted, so I almost 
intuitively reached the conclusion that the 
story must be of unusual importance. 

^ Anything new? ’ I says to half a dozen 
loafers who were hangin’ around Billie the 
Merchant’s empty shop. 

^ Nothing new. Captain,’ three or four of 
them lied with their lips, but they couldn’t 
lie with their eyes, so I began to get mighty 
suspicious, and mighty curious, too, I tell 
you. 

^^What was I to do? Was I to hang 
around and listen, or was I to take a more 
up-to-date method of doin’ the trick? 

Money makes the mare go,’ I says to 


Those Lessons 


139 


myself, ^ at least it can furnish the oats, 
whip, cetera,’ I says, so I harnessed up and 
made a bee-line for St. Lawrence Station, 
and sent a telegram to Detective Presland, 
of Halifax, askin’ him to come to Big Frog 
Pond without a moment’s delay. I was 
bound to detail an expert on the case. But 
Detective Presland was a trifle slow in com- 
in,’ so I decided to take the bull by the horns 
myself, even if there was more or less danger 
of gettin’ gored to death. 

Wal — to make a long story short, I drove 
right out to see Donald the Bad Man, on my 
return to Big Frog Pond, only to And the 
same quare look in Donald’s eyes and the 
same quare expression bubblin’ through 
the wrinkles in his old and well-know’d 
face. 

‘ Any news? ’ I says, as a feeler. 

“ ^ Wal — no,’ he says — and you should have 
seen the demoniacal look on the old fellow’s 
face. I could see at a glance that he was 
lyin’, but how was I to pump the truth out of 
him? 

^^The old man had one weakness that I 
know’d of, howuver, and that weakness was 
his son Dannie — the young brat I was tryin’ 
to make a man of — so I talked Dannie to old 
Donald the Duvil for a while, which had the 


140 


The Woman Hater 


effect of makin’ the old man warm up to me 
considerably. 

“ ^ Wal/ I says, ^ don’t you consider me a 
friend of yours and of Dannie’s? ’ I says. 

“ ^ Undoubtedly,’ he says, but with some- 
thing wabbly about the emphasis that I 
didn’t like. 

^ Wal — then,’ I says, ^ there is a nasty 
slander goin’ around about me, and I want 
to know the worst,’ I says, ‘ for you know, 
Donald,’ I says, ‘that when there is a yarn 
goin’ around, the man immediately concerned 
is usually the last to be told about it.’ 

“ Wal — you should have see’d the old 
sinner. He simply doubled up, like as if he 
took different kinds of pains in his stomach, 
and then I began to suspect that he himself 
had something to do with spreadin’ the story 
around Big Frog Pond, for he squirmed and 
twisted like a convicted criminal awaitin’ 
sentence. 

“ ‘ Disgorge,’ I says, ‘ for that’s the only 
way to relieve the tremendous pressure that 
is bein’ brought to bear on you from within,’ 
I says. 

“Wal — he grinned the ugliest grin that I 
uver expect to see this side the bottom- 
less pits, and then coughed up the whole 
story. 


Those Lessons 


141 


^ You see, Captain, my dear old friend,’ 
he says, ‘ it was this way. The story goes 
that when you realized how deficient you 
were in those arts, graces, and accomplish- 
ments, pertainin’ to high life, you took 
advantage of the presence of the Widow 
Billie the Gentleman and her daughter 
Mamie in the neighbourhood, and hired the 
old widow as your housekeeper for the pur- 
pose of gettin’ Mamie to give you some point- 
ers on social usages, and of teachin’ you to 
waltz, two-step, militaire, schottishe, cetera,’ 
he says. 

“ ^ And the story goes,’ he says, ^ that your 
aristicratic housekeeper got up formal din- 
ners for the purpose of breakin’ some of the 
raw edges off your table manners, which onct 
only consisted of a good appetite.’ 

“ ^ Go on,’ I says, quiet enough, although 
I felt like Mount Vesuvius, ready to bu’st at 
any moment. 

“ ‘ Wal — Captain,’ he says, ^ they are sayin’ 
that Mamie and her mother were so turribly 
shocked at your uncouth behavior when cer- 
tain swell guests were present at one of 
those formal dinners, that the former bu’sted 
out cryin’ and the latter fainted; and that 
you were so mighty ashamed of the breaks 
you made that you gave them twenty dollars 


142 


The Woman Hater 


apiece to buy new hats and then made a bee- 
line for Sydney/ he says. 

^ Is that all?’ I says, bu’stin’ out laugh- 
in’, although it was quite a contract to laugh 
under the circumstances. 

^^^Is that all?’ he says, fairly overcome 
with surprise that I should appear so indif- 
ferent. 

^ Wal — Captain,’ he says, ‘ I think that is 
sufficient,’ at which I roared out laughin’. . 

‘ Who told you all that stuff? ’ I says. 

^ Jo Joey Joseph Jo,’ he says, so I made 
a bee-line for that well-know’d character’s 
house. 

“Jo Joey Joseph Jo is an old friend of 
mine, and I found him quite ready to tell me 
all he knew. He corroberated Donald the 
Bad Man’s version, and when I asked him 
if that was all, he opened out and gave me 
some additional information. 

“ ‘ You see, accordin’ to the story, Cap- 
tain/ he says, ‘ pointers on behaviour were 
only one portion of your course. Dancin’ was 
supposed to form another portion, and they 
are sayin’ that Mamie would whirl around 
the room, countin’ 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3, and 
that you would follow her with a chair in 
your arms for a partner. Some went so far 
as to say that the reason you and Mamie 


Those Lessons 


143 


weren’t waltzin’ together was that she was 
afraid that you would step on her toes with 
your number-ten feet; others, that your 
principal reason for not whirlin’ around with 
Mamie was your old and well-know’d prej- 
udice against the fair sex,’ he says, ^ while 
some others were uncharitable enough to say 
that you would cut quite an elegant figure 
at some of those grand functions up in Hali- 
fax, whirlin’ around a ball-room with your 
arms busy embracin’ a piece of furniture,’ he 
says. 

^^‘Wal,’ I says, Ms that all you beared 
about it?’ 

That’s about all,’ he says, ^ and I was 
mighty sorry to hear anything like that goin’ 
around about my old friend. It was Jo For 
Short that was tollin’ me,’ he says, so I lost 
no time in huntin’ up Jo For Short for an 
interview. 

^‘Jo For Short isn’t hard to find, partic- 
ularly if he thinks there’s a bottle of whiskey 
about a fellow’s clothes, and I took the pre- 
caution of havin’ a fiask of the best of Scotch 
on my person before I went to look for the 
Wag from Juniperville. It didn’t take me 
long to find him and to put a couple of good 
drinks down his thirsty throat. But Jo al- 
ways develops very sticky characteristics 


144 


The Woman Hater 


after the whiskey begins to work, and the 
first thing I know^d he had his arms around 
my neck. I didn^t like that part of the 
ceremony, although I didn^t resent it, partic- 
ularly when he began coughin^ up the story 
without bein^ asked to do so. 

“ ^ What turrible things have they goin^ 
around about my dear old friend? ’ he says to 
me. ^ About his takin’ dancin’ lessons from 
his housekeeper’s daughter, and lessons in be- 
haviour, cetera?’ he says. ^ Why, the whole 
neighbourhood is agog with all kinds of ru- 
mours. Only last night I was down to see 
your old political opponent, one Billie the 
Merchant, the man with the empty shop, the 
bu’sted philanthropist of Big Frog Pond, and 
he told me some quare things about you. 
He said that Mamie was busily engaged in 
polishin’ up your manners for Halifax so- 
ciety, and that she had quite a contract on 
hand. Why, he said, it must have been amus- 
in’ to see the poor girl manoeuvrin’ the un- 
couth old sea-duvil in and out of a room. 
First, she’d get him to come in the parlour 
door and make the regulation bow, which 
was a mighty difficult thing for him to do 
gracefully, in view of the fact that his back 
was developed without calisthenics; but it 
was when she was tryin’ to teach him to back 


Those Lessons 


145 


out of a room gracefully that he furnished 
all the fun, for the old duffer nuver seemed 
to be able to aim straight for the exit, and 
usually landed up against the wall, or 
bumped his head against the side of the 
door,’ says Jo. 

“ ^ And they are sayin’ that at the formal 
dinners you cut up all sorts of shines. Cap- 
tain,’ he says, ‘ and made all the old breaks 
in new ways — ^that you sneezed into your 
napkin instead of into your pocket hand- 
kerchief, that you picked your teeth with 
your fingers, and that you made as 
much noise drinkin’ your soup as if you 
were a Yorkshire instead of bein’ one of the 
chosen representatives of the people,’ he 
says. 

‘ Who told you first about all this, Jo For 
Short?’ I says. 

«<Why, Captain,’ he says, Hhe first I 
beared of these droll things was from Ton- 
tine Donald, the insurance agent. He was 
around here lookin’ up risks, and he hired 
me to drive him into Sydney; and it was on 
the way in that he told me all about you and 
the lessons in dancin’ and general deport- 
ment,’ he says. 

“ ‘ I see,’ I says; then, after a while, I says 
to Jo: 


146 


The Woman Hater 


“ ‘ Whaf s that young brat hangin’ around 
Big Frog Pond for? ^ I says. 

^ Oh, thaPs easy answered,’ says Jo. 
‘ Why, he’s struck on Mamie herself, but he’s 
so mighty afraid of you. Captain, that he 
hasn’t the courage to go near the house,’ he 
says. Wal — that meant another drink for 
Jo For Short who was quite pleased to be 
able to help somebody into a difficulty. 

“ I was now gettin’ down to facts, so I 
hurried home to think matters over, with the 
result that I decided to send Detective Pres- 
land to Sydney to interview Tontine Donald. 
I accordingly met the sleuth-hound at St. 
Lawrence Station, the followin’ evening, and 
sent him on to Sydney. 

It was a very easy matter for him to 
pump the talkative insurance agent who 
readily acknowledged that it was Mamie her- 
self that told him all about me. But wasn’t 
I mad? I felt like ketchin’ Mamie by the 
back of the neck and throwin’ her half way 
across Big Frog Pond. I didn’t say nothing, 
howuver, for I didn’t want to give my ene- 
mies the least satisfaction. 

When Presland got in to Big Frog Pond, 
the next day, he had the whole story. Mamie 
fell in love with Tontine Donald, and coughed 
up the whole transaction. Tontine Donald 


Those Lessons 


147 


told Jo For Short, the natural-born judge 
with a divine call to the Bench, on the way 
in to Sydney, and Jo For Short did the rest. 

^ You see. Captain,’ says Presland, ^ your 
theory about the girl with the secretive 
mouth is all right up to a certain point, and 
that is when she falls in love. Then, if her 
lover has a sympathetic ear, she usually tells 
him more than she should, for she looks upon 
him as the beau ideal of uverything that is 
noble and good. She even thinks his faults 
have a silver linin’ — and she nuver suspects 
that Judas Iscariot proclivity which some 
men possess of makin’ light of matters of 
that kind,’ he says. 

^ It reminds me,’ he says, ‘ of one of my 
first experiences as a detective. There was a 
leak in one of the offices of a big lumber con- 
cern out West — a rival concern was gettin’ 
inside information — and I was detailed to 
discover the leak. The first thing I advised 
was that I should be hired on as a timber 
surveyor, and as such was introduced to 
uvery member of the staff. I soon discovered 
that the stenographer in the superintend- 
ent’s office was in love with a detective em- 
ployed by the rival concern, and I began to 
suspect that he was gettin’ information that 
she had no right to give,’ he says. 


148 


The Woman Hater 


^ I accordingly had them shadowed/ he 
says, ^ with the result that she was actually 
beared coughin’ up things that went on in 
the office. She was a good little girl,’ he 
says; ‘ she was as clever a girl as you’d meet 
in a day’s travel and did her work well,’ he 
says, ‘ but she was as guileless as a ray of 
sunshine, and that demon took advantage of 
her love for him and got her to cough up 
things that nuver should have been told,’ he 
says. ^ She had as secretive a mouth as uver 
I see’d, but it soon pumped the firm’s busi- 
ness into the treacherous but sympathetic 
ear of the scoundrel that made love to her 
for the purpose of findin’ out what was goin’ 
on. It’s women,’ he says. 

^ Yes,’ I says, ^ it’s those cussed women 
whatuver! ’ 

“ Wal — Bones, if uver a poor duvil was in 
a predicament, it was me. Here I was livin’ 
in the same house with a member of the 
cussed sex who was the cause of makin’ me 
an object of derision to the whole neighbour- 
hood, and I had to look unusually pleasant 
to keep her and her wily mother from sus- 
pectin’ that I found out anything. I didn’t 
know what under heaven to do, so I decided 
to wait until morning before makin’ a move; 
and when morning came after a sleepless 


Those Lessons 


149 


night, I met the pair at breakfast and made 
them believe I was unusually happy. 

^ How would you’s like a trip to Halifax? ’ 
I says. 

“ ^ Why, we should be delighted to go/ 
they both says. 

^ Wal,^ I says, ^ I have been thinkin’ of 
closin’ the house for some time, so if you’s’d 
care to take a run up to Halifax to visit your 
old friend the Widow Captain John, I’ll pay 
your way up and back. Besides, you have 
both been so kind to me that I want you’s to 
do me the favour of allowin’ both of you’s a 
bonus of six months’ salary in addition to 
what is due you’s now,’ I says, right out from 
the shoulder, although those poor misfortu- 
nates thought it was right out from the soft- 
est part of my heart. 

Of course, they cried more or less grati- 
tude at me, cetera, but I didn’t mind that 
very much in view of the fact that I was 
about to get rid of them. It cost me quite a 
lot of money to get rid of them, too, I want 
to tell you, for, as it was, they were both 
gettin’ more salary than they were worth. 
But I nuver spent money to better advan- 
tage. 

“ They left me bubblin’ all over with grati- 
tude and admiration, which was better than 


150 


The Woman Hater 


havin’ them sore on account of havin’ them 
fired for treachery. 

After I got them safely out of the way, I 
changed my mind about closin’ the house, 
and sent for Little Peggie, my old house- 
keeper. Poor Peggie isn’t much of an aristo- 
crat, Bones, old chap, but she can make good 
porridge and oat-meal cake. Besides, she is 
thoroughly loyal to her quare cousin, which 
is better than fancy manners any day.” 

That’s right. Captain! ” 

“ After all,” the sea-dog continued, ‘‘ there 
are no friends like the old friends. Their 
raiment may be a little out of date, and their 
ideas of etiquette may be a little raw, but 
there is a warmth in their hearts, a light in 
their eyes, and a something in the grasp of 
their hand, which makes a fellow feel that 
they are gold all the way through. You are 
in that class yourself. Bill Bones,” the smug- 
gler added, smiling affectionately at the re- 
porter. “ Like myself, I notice you don’t pay 
much attention to the gee-gaws of our up-to- 
date existence, but your friendship, I should 
judge, would be eighteen-carat all the way 
through. 

“No more lessons in Social Finish, there- 
fore, for your old friend. He’s too rugged by 
nature for any of that kind of whitewash to 


Those Lessons 


151 


stick, for no matter how thick it is pnt on, it 
soon dries up and peels off in chunks; and al- 
though the excitement over my lessons in 
deportment and my supposed lessons in 
dancin’ was soon displaced by a new sensa- 
sation, I nuver quite got over the feelin’ of 
disgust I conceived for the aristocrats who 
caused me to be held up before the public 
scorn.” 

You certainly used them well after 
Mamie’s treachery. Captain.” 

Wal,” drawled the old salt, I partly 
deserved what I got, for when a man with 
honest Scotch blood tricklin’ through his 
veins falls so low as to take lessons in eti- 
quette, he deserves to have a yarn about 
those lessons grow like a snowball rollin’ 
down the side of a mountain. But I didn’t 
deserve such treachery from the penurious 
and aristocratic outfit I put on their second 
feet. I deserved better of them. But it’s 
those women. Bones, old pal; those cussed 
women! ” 


CHAPTEE IX. 


A TRAGEDY AVERTED. 

Captain Roderick rested well that night, 
and next morning he was in exceptionally 
good cheer. 

How are yon feeling this morning, Cap- 
tain? ” was The Thunderer’s first question, on 
entering the sea-dog’s room. 

Niiver felt better in my life,’’ the smug- 
gler answered. You can tell Peggie to send 
up some porridge, toast, and a cup of coffee, 
or you can bring them up yourself.” 

All right. Captain.” 

Mr. Bones forthwith left the sea-dog’s bed- 
room, but soon returned with a tray contain- 
ing Captain Roderick’s breakfast. 

This tray reminds me of the best meal I 
uver had on a dinin’-car,” said the philoso- 
pher. “ It was the last day of the memorable 
year in which I was elected to a back pew in 
the provincial legislature, and I was on my 
way to Halifax. I left Big Frog Pond that 
morning, and drove in to St. Lawrence Sta- 
152 


A Tragedy Averted 


153 


tion; and as I had an early breakfast, I want 
to say right here that cornin’ on twelve 
o’clock I was hungry enough to eat raw po- 
tatoes. 

“All of a sudden a fellow with a white 
coat and a white apron came scuffin’ through 
the first-class car announcin’ the fact that 
dinner was ready in the dinin’-car. Wal — I 
jumped out of my seat and shot out into the 
eatin’-car, and along came one of the most 
dejected-lookin’ of mortals in the shape of 
a waiter who wearily pulled out a chair from 
one of the short tables, biddin’ me be seated. 
I wondered if there was any way of puttin’ 
steam into that fellow’s movements, and of 
cheerin’ him up, so I laid a quarter on the 
table beside me as an indication that if I 
got any decent kind of attention, the quarter 
would be left there. 

“The effect was instantaneous — ^the fel- 
low brightened up a bit when he saw the 
quarter, grabbed up the bill of fare, and 
handed it to me. Now, in order that there 
should be no mistake about that quarter. 
Bones, I placed seventy-five cents — the price 
of the dinner — a little farther away, and or- 
dered some soup which came mighty quick, I 
tell you. 

“ Seein’ that the waiter was doin’ so well, 


154 


The Woman Hater 


I put a fifty-cent piece on the table in place 
of the quarter, and then ordered some more 
soup, for I was purty darn thirsty, and one 
hundred and forty-four drops of soup are 
hardly enough for a thirsty man. When he 
spied the half-dollar, he got more steam into 
his movements, let me tell you, and he came 
along with sufficient soup to drown a full- 
grown ox. I took all I wanted, left the rest, 
then ordered some turkey which first came 
by sample and then by the carcass. 

I nuver see’d such a heap of turkey 
placed before any one man in my life, so I 
changed the half-dollar into an American 
dollar, which made that waiter my abject 
slave. He hustled back and forth, ignorin’ 
both fellow waiters and hungry guests. I 
see’d at a glance that he was on the make, 
so I put a two-dollar bill on the table in place 
of the American dollar, to see what effect it 
would have, and I could tell by his actions 
that he was gettin’ purty darn near the 
safety test, although I didn’t say nothing. I 
attended strictly to the business of appeasin’ 
my appetite, keepin’ my eye on the waiter, 
howuver, all the time. 

‘‘Wal — he cast such affectionate glances 
at the two-dollar bill that I thought I’d like 
to see what effect a gold piece would have^ so 


A Tragedy Averted 


155 


I put a two-dollar-and-a-half gold coin on the 
table in place of the two-dollar bill. The 
effect scared me. The waiter thought he sud- 
denly discovered a gold mine, and Til bet you 
a cent that he loved me better than his best 
girl, for I believe if we weren’t in such a pub- 
lic place, he would have got his arm around 
me. 

He didn’t perform that stunt, but he 
tried another. He attempted the difficult 
feat of makin’ me eat some of the substan- 
tials that crowded the bill of fare, but I was 
stubborn enough to think that soup, turkey, 
potatoes, apple pie, and a cup of tea, were 
good enough for any man, so I declined to 
gorge my stomach with the indigestibles on 
the grub schedule. But I didn’t resent the 
poor duvil’s attempt to be extra nice; I 
merely asked for my grub check, and when 
he was after it, I picked up the gold coin and 
put it back in my pocket. He came back 
smilin’ with the check, but when he see’d that 
the gold was gone, the light died out of his 
face. 

“ ^ Here’s your check, mister,’ he says. 

^ Thank you,’ I says, handin’ him seventy- 
five cents. 

I felt sorry for the misfortunate fellow, 
he was so mighty down-hearted over the loss 


156 


The Woman Hater 


of the gold, but I didn^t say nothing about it 
to him. I merely ordered half a dozen of his 
best cigars, which cost me a dollar, and 
handed him a five-dollar bill in payment. 

“ ^ Wait a minute until I’ll get the change,’ 
he says. 

‘ Nuyer mind the change,’ I says. ^ You 
may keep the change for yourself,’ I says. 

It wasn’t the money altogether, but some' 
thing touched a tender chord in the poor feb 
low’s heart, for the tears came rollin’ down 
his cheeks. He tried to blubber out his 
thanks, to which I didn’t pay much attention, 
for the liquid gratitude that poured from his 
eyes, convinced me that he was grateful, and 
genuine gratitude, whether it comes in drops 
from the eyes, or in chokes from the throat, 
is good enough for me. 

Now, I suppose you think I did a party 
darn quare thing, old chap, when I gave that 
fellow four dollars for bein’ extra nice to me, 
but I did it for a purpose. I saw he was 
kind of disheartened over something, and I 
wanted to convince him that there were a 
whole lot of good fellows in the world who 
would give him a shove along if he only 
looked pleasant and got a move on. I didn’t 
do any preachin’ to him. It doesn’t do any 
good to preach to a fellow in that frame of 


A Tragedy Averted 


157 


mind, but I wanted that fonr-dollar incident 
to preach to him whenuver he felt dis- 
couraged, and I’ll bet you that poor fellow 
will see me with a halo in his day-dreams for 
many a day to come. I met him again——” 
I am afraid your breakfast will get cold. 
Captain,” interrupted the irrepressible. 

I had better get busy, then,” said the 
smuggler, sitting up in bed. 

After the sea-dog had finished eating. The 
Thunderer took the tray of dishes back to the 
kitchen, but returned to the bed-room al- 
most immediately. 

“ Did anything else happen on that trip to 
Halifax?” asked Bones, while Captain Kod- 
erick was lighting his pipe. 

Wal — no,” the sea-dog answered, throw- 
ing away the match that had almost burned 
his fingers. “ Nothing unusual happened 
until we got in to Halifax, and there pande- 
monium reigned supreme. If you want to 
get some idea of the bottomless pits, all you 
have got to do is to poke your nose out of the 
city end of the Halifax railway station after 
the arrival of a train. 

^ Bluenose Hotel,’ says one. ‘ Princess 
Hotel,’ says another. ^ Prince Hotel,’ says 
a third. ^ Prince of Wales Hotel,’ says a 
fourth. ^ Baggage transferred,’ says a fifth. 


158 


The Woman Hater 


^Cab, sir/ says a sixth. ^Cab/ says ten or 
twelve others. Then they would all bu’st 
forth into song together, makin’ such ear- 
splittin’ music that you would think the sen- 
sible old city wouldn^t permit such uproar- 
ious conduct within its sacred precincts. But 
it does. 

Wal — I don’t object to spendin’ a quarter 
or a half-dollar for cab fare from a railway 
station to a hotel, but I do object to bein’ 
brayed at in that fashion, so I made a bee- 
line up the stairs to the street above and 
took a car for the Bluenose Hotel. 

It was the first time I had been in the 
Bluenose since I was refused a drink there 
long ago, when I was but an ordinary sea 
captain, but I was bound to get even with 
the proprietor, so I strutted into the office 
and there I met my old enemy. He know’d 
me at a glance, and he pretended to be 
mighty glad to see me, but I didn’t take 
kindly to his advances. 

^ How do you do. Captain? ’ he says. 

^ What’s that? ’ I says. 

^^^How do you do?’ he says, less effusive 
than before. 

^ What do you want to know for? ’ I says, 
goin’ up to the register and dashin’ down my 
name. 


A Tragedy Averted 


159 


^ You^re very stiff/ he says. 

‘ You’re very forward/ I says, ^ and I 
want to say right here that I resent any such 
advances,’ I says. 

‘ I’m tired/ I says, ^ and I don’t want to 
be bothered or how-do-you-do-ed at, either,’ I 
says. 

^ All right,’ he says, and I left him where 
he was. 

A bell-boy took my grip and carried it up 
to my room, and I gave the kid half a dol- 
lar which would prejudice the house in my 
favour, even against the proprietor himself. 
I then had a wash, and immediately came 
down to the dinin’-room for supper. The 
head waiter met me at the door, and I slipped 
a dollar into his hand, which had the imme- 
diate effect of makin’ a rather serious face 
look mighty pleasant. He gave me what was 
probably the best seat in the room, then got 
the purtiest girl in sight to wait on me. 

I didn’t feel at all grateful for his choice 
of waitress, but I didn’t say nothing. I 
merely ate my supper, and left the regula- 
tion quarter under my plate. I knew the 
purty waitress would get it, for while I was 
at supper I saw her lookin’ under the plates 
of an adjoinin’ table for tips, after the de- 
parture of the prosperous-lookin’ guest who 


160 


The Woman Hater 


had been gorgin’ himself thereat. She found 
a ten-cent piece, and she looked pleasant, so 
I judged that a quarter would make her face 
break into smiles, although I had no time to 
await the result of the experiment. I was in 
a hurry to get back to my room, and who 
should I find waitin’ for me at the door but 
the dinin’-car waiter.” 

I was just goin’ to ask you where you met 
him again,” said the newspaper man. 

Wal — he was at the door of my room 
waitin’ for me. I didn’t know him at first, 
but as soon as I saw the light in his eyes, I 
recognized the effect of the four-dollar tip. 

^ Will you be at leisure any time this 
evening? ’ he says to me. ^ I should like to 
have a few words with you,’ he says. 

^ I’m at leisure now,’ I says, ^ so come 
right in.’ 

I accordingly opened the door of my 
room, showed him in, and bade him be seated. 

He proved to be a mighty nice fellow. 
He was of one of the best families in Eng- 
land, and was very highly educated. 

^ Do you see that? ’ he says, holdin’ out a 
small bottle of potassium cyanide, with the 
usual skull and cross-bones on the label to 
indicate how deadly the decoction was. 

do/ I says, ‘and what in the world 


A Tragedy Averted 


161 


are you doin’ with that kind of material 
around you. Have a drink of Scotch?^ I 
says. 

^ I don’t drink whiskey, thank you,’ he 
says. 

^‘‘Wal — have a smoke?’ I says, handin’ 
him a cigar. 

^ Not this evening, thank you,’ he says. 

‘ And what are you carryin’ such deadly 
stuff as that around with you for? ’ I says. 

“ ‘ I’ll tell you,’ he says, ^ because 1 look 
upon you as the only friend I have in the 
whole world. I intended to commit suicide. 
I bought that stuff in Sydney with the inten- 
tion of takin’ it when I was goin’ to bed to- 
night, and only I had the good luck to wait 
on you in the dinin’-car to-day, I’d have been 
cold in death before this,’ he says. 

^ Let me see that bottle,’ I says, and he 
handed it to me. ^ I want to keep this as a 
souvenir of you,’ I says. 

^ All right,’ he says.” 

‘‘What was the poor fellow’s idea in 
wantin’ to commit suicide? ” asked the re- 
porter. 

“ That was the very question I asked the 
young Englishman himself,” the sea-dog an- 
swered. 

“ And what did he say? ” 


162 


The Woman Hater 


He told me his life’s story,” answered the 
smuggler, “and a rather pathetic story it 
was, too. ^ My father was the second son of 
Lord Bismuth,’ he says, ^ and I was born with 
that species of tableware know’d as a silver 
spoon stickin’ out of my mouth. My mother 
died when I was about a year old. I had no 
sister or brother, and I was brought up by a 
demon of a step-mother who drank booze, 
gambled, cetera,’ he says. 

“ ‘ I hated her as I nuver hated anybody 
else in the world. She was a perfect demon, 
don’t-cher-know,’ he says, ‘ and she made our 
home a perfect hell for both father and me. 
When I was seven years of age,’ he says, ‘ I 
was sent to a private school where I re- 
mained until I went to the university, and 
after takin’ a full university course — classics, 
college yells, cetera — I entered the famous 
English bankin’-house of Grubbs, Stubbs & 
Goggles, as a junior clerk, just about the 
time my father died, leavin’ me penniless. I 
was four years with that house when I met a 
beautiful young English girl to whom I be- 
came engaged. But she jilted me after a 
year or so, and it broke me all up,’ he says. 

“ ^ I came to Halifax on one of the ocean 
liners as a deckhand, and after slushin’ 
around for a couple of months,’ he says, ‘ dur- 


A Tragedy Averted 


163 


in^ which I had great difficulty in keepin’ soul 
and body together/ he says, ‘ I finally got a 
position as dining-car waiter at thirty dol- 
lars a month. I was perfectly satisfied, 
howuver, until last night,’ he says, ^ when I 
received an English newspaper in which my 
old girl’s engagement was announced to the 
one man I hated most of all others in the 
world,’ he says. ^ It was then I decided to 
end my life,’ he says. ‘ There’s in this world,’ 
he says 

‘ There’s in this world no sight so sad 
As one who, losin’ all he had, 

Sets out for lands unknown, to spend 
His life afar from home and friend. 

There when soft eyes their love betray, 
He’ll hide his face and turn away ; 

And when the green tree falls to gold, 

Ah, tell me, can he be consoled ? ’ 

‘ I don’t see the point,’ I says. ‘ Soft eyes, 
love, cetera — bah! ’ I says. 

^ What’s your name? ’ I says. 

‘ George Down,’ he says. 

“ ^ Wal,’ I says, ^ if you took your life you 
would be on your way down to the bottom- 
less pits by this time,’ I says. 

“ ^ I suppose I would,’ he says. 


164 


The Woman Hater 


^ And would you really take your life be- 
cause a girl went back on you? ’ I says. 

^ I would/ he says, ^ because what’s the 
use of livin’ when the girl you loved better 
than your life turned against you for the 
man you hated of all others,’ he says. 

^ Wounded pride,’ I says. ‘ I nuver loved 
any girl better than my life,’ I says, ‘ and I 
want to tell you right here,’ I says, ‘ that I 
wouldn’t lose a minute’s sleep if all the girls 
between here and the bottomless pits should 
go back on me,’ I says. 

^ Isn’t there one girl destined for uvery 
man,’ he says, ‘ and if she goes back on him, 
how about that? ’ he says. 

^^‘Wal — what rot!’ I says. ‘It’s easy 
know’d that you are from the Old Country, 
or you would nuver have made such a break,’ 
I says. ‘ There are hundreds of girls who 
would make a mighty better wife for you 
than your false English girl,’ I says. ‘ Just 
try Cape Breton,’ I says. 

“ ‘ The way to choose a good wife,’ I says, 
‘ is to have a look around until you see a 
good woman with eligible daughters, who 
has the right kind of respect for her hus- 
band; then,’ I says, ‘if you find that she 
brought up her daughters good and strict, 
you are purty darn safe in hitchin’ up with 


A Tragedy Averted 165 

any of them that pleases your fancy/ I 
says. 

^ But let me give you a tip in this connec- 
tion/ I says. ‘ Look out for the daughter 
whose mother didn^t use her husband right/ 
I says, ‘ for as the mother uses her husband, 
so shall the daughter use her hubby, if that^s 
the technical language of the game/ I 
says. 

“ ^ A man is nuver safe in marryin’ the 
daughter of a woman whose husband is a 
great hero when he is prosperin’ and a colos- 
sal lobster when he’s up against hard luck. 
Marry the girl that will believe you king 
whether you are prosperous enough to afford 
a regiment of servants, or whether your el- 
bows are after makin’ holes in your raimant/ 
I says. 

‘ But keep mighty clear of the daughters 
of a mother whose respect for her husband 
would look small on the head of a pin/ I says, 
‘ that is,’ I says, ^ unless you enjoy havin’ the 
feathers picked out of you. Of course,’ I 
says, Mf you hanker after the specifications 
of a hen without feathers,’ I says, ^ don’t for- 
get to give the daughters of a house a call 
where the mother has acquired the habit of 
chewin’ gum in the parlour, to the accompani- 
ment of a gramaphone, while the father is 


'166 


The Woman Hater 


wrestlin’ with pans and things in the 
kitchen/ I says. 

‘ But the idea of there bein’ only one girl 
in the world for any given fellow, is pure non- 
sense. Why, if you will only come to Cape 
Breton, I’ll introduce you to half a dozen 
girls, each of whom will turn your head 
faster than if it was propelled by an electric 
motor. Cheer up, my boy,’ I says, clappin’ 
him on the back. ‘ You’ll forget all about 
your English lassie when you’ll meet some of 
the nice girls I know,’ I says, ‘ and then you’ll 
be mighty glad that you’re free from English 
shackles and far across the sea.’ 

‘ You’re a mine of optimism,’, he says. 

‘ I’m only natural,’ I says. ^ That’s all,’ 
I says. ^ But by the way,’ I says, ‘ how would 
you like to change your job? ’ I says. ‘ I got 
a few hundred shares of Federal Bank stock 
which gives me a little pull with the Federal 
Bank outfit, so if you are anxious to try your 
hand at bankin’ in this country and can show 
a clear record, I guess I can land you some- 
thing that would be more in your line,’ I says. 

‘ Thank you. Captain,’ he says, with tears 
coursin’ down his cheeks. ‘ You’re blunt,’ 
he says. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ I says, interruptin’ him, ‘ as blunt 
as the back of an axe,’ I says. 


A Tragedy Averted 


167 


^ But you’re gold/ he says, ‘ all the way 
through.’ 

“ I rather liked the boy’s gratitude, so I 
decided to give him one more pointer before 
dismissin’ him for the night.” 

“ What was that? ” asked the reporter. 

I told him to change his name from Down 
to Dawn. That’s all, old chap, for how could 
you blame a fellow with such a name for 
gravitatin’ down — even unto the bottomless 
pits.” 

Did you succeed in getting the fellow a 
job with the Federal Bank outfit. Captain?” 

Perhaps I did, and perhaps I didn’t,” 
said the sea-dog. “ One thing is certain, 
howuver; George Down Dawn-ed in the Fed- 
eral Bank before the end of a week.” 


CHAPTER X. 


THAT INFAMOUS DOOR 

After a hearty dinner^ Captain Roderick 
sat up, all the pain having gone out of his 
ankle. A couple of old cronies — one from 
Little Frog Pond, the other from Juniperville 
— called to see him later on in the afternoon, 
bringing with them a bottle of Scotch whis- 
key of which all four partook. 

Always very moderate in the use of liquor, 
the sea-dog was particularly so this after- 
noon. The visitors had indulged quite freely, 
however, and joined Bones in insisting on 
the smugglers telling them a good story — 
something their genial host was not at all 
loath to do. 

Did you uver hear about the closin’ of the 
door?” he asked them. 

No,” they answered. 

Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, “ it was New 
Year’s Eve — the last day of that memorable 
year in which I was honoured with a back 
pew in the legislature of my own native prov- 
168 


That Infamous Door 


169 


ince; and, as I was tellin^ Mr. Bones only this 
morning, I was in Halifax. The old year was 
dyin’; fact, it was actually on its death-bed, 
and a noisy death-bed it was havin’. 

The boys who were addicted to the use 
of that old and well-know’d curse commonly 
called intoxicatin’ liquor, had congregated 
in the booze-quarters of the Bluenose Hotel, 
where they were drinkin’ to the demise of 
the old year and to the health of the new 
year that would soon be ushered into this 
world of happiness and misery. I didn’t pat- 
ronize the booze end of the establishment 
that evening, for I had something in my 

pocket belongin’ to someone ” 

Gold Cure” interrupted Little Frog Pond. 
No,” Captain Roderick replied good- 
naturedly, “ but it wms a little bottle of some- 
thing given me under such circumstances as 
to make me feel that the booze end of the 
hotel was an end to be avoided that evening. 
That’s all you’s are goin’ to hear about it, 
too, so no more questions, please.” 

Go on with your story. Captain,” said 
Juniperville. “ Nuver mind us.” 

“ Wal — as I was sayin’,” the smuggler con- 
tinued, I kept clear of the bar all that even- 
ing. I was feelin’ a little tired, too, so I went 
to bed about ten o’clock. I wasn’t long fall- 


170 


The Woman Hater 


in^ asleep, and talk about dreams, I had the 
dream of a lifetime. 

I dreamt I took a walk down towards the 
south end of the city, only to see one of the 
saddest sights that uver met the human eye. 
The night was fine. There was no snow on 
the ground, and a soft south wind was 
soughin’ through the leafless trees. Uvery- 
thing was funereal-lookin’ about the south 
end of the city, and it was easy enough to tell 
that something turrible was goin’ to happen. 

^^Of course, when the poor old year that 
had seen me ushered into the spot-light of 
political notoriety, was curlin’ up its toes 
preparatory to kickin’ the proverbial bucket, 
it was enough to make me feel depressed, 
but it was nothing, my dear fellows, abso- 
lutely nothing, to the heart-rendin’ scene 
that met my gaze that very night.” 

Come to the point quick. Captain,” said 
Little Frog Pond. We are just dyin’ with 
curiosity.” 

Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” 
the sea-dog went on, “ for, as I was sayin,’ 
the scene that met my gaze was heart-rendin’ 
In the extreme. As I strolled along the side- 
walk around Government House, a woman 
more than attracted my attention. She was 
standin’ on th^ sidewalk and she was cryin’ 


That Infamous Door 


171 


as if her venerable heart was after breakin’ 
into half a dozen pieces. Of course, some 
women will cry whatuver. But there was 
something so touchin’ in this woman’s lam- 
entations that I had to cough onct or twice 
to keep a mighty big lump from actually 
cornin’ up into my throat and chokin’ me. 

^ Oh — ho — ho — ho ! ’ she wailed. ^ Oh — 
ho — ho — ho!’ she repeated. ^What will be- 
come of us?’ she says. ^Boo — hoo — hoo — 
hoo ! Boo — hoo — hoo — hoo ! ’ 

“I tell you it was touchin’; fact, it was 
enough to melt the very sparables in a fel- 
low’s number-ten brogans. 

“^What’s the matter, missus?’ I says, 
with liquid sorrow streamin’ down my old 
and well-know’d face. 

“^Matter?’ she says. ^Boo — hoo — hoo! 
Boo — hoo — hoo ! ’ 

Oh, such anguish of spirit and such heart 
agony, I nuver want to see duplicated again! 

^‘Wal — after Mrs. Dominic Boggs had 
wailed herself out of breath, her daughter 
Marion took up the strain. 

mamma, mamma!’ she cried aloud. 

^ Isn’t this just heart-rendin’? ’ she says. 
^And to think that I did not yet make my 
deboo — ^hoo — hoo — hoo ! ’ 

^ That’s not the most tragic part of the 


172 


The Woman Hater 


deplorable affair, Marion,’ says Mrs. Anson- 
Spars, cornin’ on the scene. ‘ Your deboo is 
not the only social sensation of the future. 
Why,’ she says, have a daughter myself 
who didn’t make her deboo yet, and her de- 
boo — ’m boo — hoo — hoo — hoo — is just as im- 
portant as yours, for you must remember 
that the Anson-Spars family is away up — one 
of the oldest and most aristocratic families 
in the city, their family tree bein’ traceable 
back to the early days,’ she says. 

“ Wal — this got Mrs. Boggs’s back up, and 
she says: 

‘ Yes,’ she says, ^ your family bush goes 
back to the Anson-Spars who made the 
fortune ’ 

“ ^ In the fish business,’ interrupted Mrs. 
Anson-Spars. 

“ ^ Yes,’ added Mrs. Boggs, by way of ex- 
planation, her eyes snappin’ fire, ‘ sellin’ fish,’ 
she says, ketchin’ her nose with her fingers 
in the most insultin’ way. 

“ It looked as if there would be a hair- 
pullin’ tug o’ war inside of ten seconds, but 
Mrs. Anson-Spars throwed back her head 
and made a thrust at Mrs. Boggs that 
drawed blood. 

^ You are one of all others who shouldn’t 
talk about family skeletons,’ she says, ‘ for 


That Infamous Door 


173 


the Boggses made their money dishin’ out 
liquid damnation to their weak fellow man 
in the shape of bad booze/ she says. 

“‘Fish!’ says Mrs. Boggs, again puttin’ 
her hand to her nose. 

“‘Liquid damnation!’ says Mrs. Anson- 
Spars, and the row went on. 

“ Mrs. John H. Puggy-Short took sides with 
Mrs. Boggs, and said it was a darn shame for 
Mrs. Anson-Spars to be cursin’ in public, 
whereupon Mrs. Anson-Spars promptly told 
Mrs. Puggy-Short that she was nothing but 
a backwoods aristocrat, as both she and her 
husband were from the country. 

“Wal — that took Mrs. John H. Puggy- 
Short’s breath, and the poor woman, bein’ in 
doubt as to the validity of her claims to bein’ 
an orthodox aristocrat, directed her energies 
along the producin’ line, for none of the 
others present shed such copious tears. She 
was simply inconsolable. The flood-gates of 
her grief were throwed wide open, and her 
lamentations were only equalled by the gills 
of liquid that were distilled by the weepin’ 
apparatus of her charmin’ eyes. 

“ Mrs. Bartholomew Tuft-Hunter wasn’t so 
easily squelched as Mrs. Puggy-Short, how- 
uver, when that estimable lady took up the 
cudgels for Mrs. Boggs, for she opened fire on 


174 ^ 


The Woman Hater 


Mrs. "Anson-Spars hy tellin’ her tha? sHe was 
a disgrace to Halifax society. 

^ Get out, you bogus aristocrat, with your 
woodpecker proclivity for climbinV says 
Mrs. Anson-Spars. ^ Your great-grandfather 
was a common labourer,’ she says. 

^ Granted,’ says Mrs. Tuft-Hunter. ^ He 
nuver sold fish,’ she says, ketchin’ her nose. 

Chimney sweep!’ says Mrs. Anson- 
Spars. 

‘ Fish — salt herring, codfish, smelts, eels, 
sharks, and pin-fish, particularly pin-fish ! ’ 
retorted Mrs. Tuft-Hunter, who then ad- 
dressed the snow-white poodle she carried in 
her arms, on the tragedy of the hour. ‘ Poor 
baby,’ she says, caressin’ the dog, ^ do you see 
what Halifax is cornin’ to? ’ And the poodle 
began to cry. ^ Bow — ow — owl’ it wailed, 
joinin’ in the general lamentations. ‘ Bow — 
ow — ow! ’ 

‘^Wal — one thing must be said in Mrs. 
Tuft-Hunter’s favour. She was a practical 
woman, for she made her beloved poodle do 
all the cryin’, and whenuver that misfortu- 
nate animal showed any signs of lettin’ up, 
she would squeeze it good and hard with the 
result that it did honour to the Tuft-Hunter 
brand of aristocracy, bogus, shoddy, and 
mushroom, though it was.’’ 


That Infamous Door 


175 


^‘But what was all the howl about?’’ 
asked the Little Frog Ponder. 

“ I am just cornin’ to that,” said the sea- 
dog. At first, I didn’t quite ketch on to the 
cause of the trouble, but when I see’d two 
sturdy stone masons at work closin’ up the 
Private Entrde — ^that old and well-know’d 
snob-door openin’ into Government House — 
the whole thing bu’sted in upon me. First, 
they placed one stone, then another, into that 
infamous entrance, securin’ each stone with 
the best of cement, until it became apparent 
to the passin’ aristocrats that the infamous 
door was doomed. Then came the groanin’ 
and howlin’ of snobbery and the whinin’ 
and barkin’ of poodlery. 

There were many touchin’ sights, but one 
of the most touchin’ was that presented by 
Game-leg Ollie. The poor fellow had just 
arrived on the scene with a gang of game- 
legged associates, who, like himself, have 
been walkin’ lame since that game-leg duke 
visited Halifax about thirty years ago. 

^ Stop, stop, stop!’ cried the Game-leg 
Leader. ‘ This blawsted outwage cannot be 
perpetwated against the leaders of ’Alifax 
society, don’t-cher-know. Just think of bein’ 
compelled to entah the gubernatorial palace 
by the same door by which doctors, lawyers, 


176 


The Woman Hater 


shop-keepers, twadesmen, meah twadesmen, 
and the sons and dawtahs of twadesmen, are 
supposed to entah! Oh, my sakes, how 
quickly this land is goin’ to the bloody dogs, 
don^t-cher-know! ^ he says. 

^ Bow — ow — ow ! ^ assented one of the 
poodles. 

‘ It’s enough to make my poor old father 
turn in his coffin,’ says Chollie Dawliiig. 
^ Yes,’ he says, ‘ the late lamented Hon. Jono- 
than Dawling, who hobnobbed about this 
city with the admirals and the captains of 
the glorious British navy, and the generals 
and the colonels of the equally glorious Brit- 
ish army, will actually turn in his coffin,’ he 
says. ‘Why,’ he says, ‘the withdrawal of 
the generals and the colonels, and of the ad- 
mirals and the captains, of the British army 
and navy, was a death-blow to British insti- 
tutions in North America. Let us weep to- 
gether,’ he says, and the howl of grief, of bit- 
ter lamentation, that distracted the thoughts 
of the dyin’ year, was such as I nuver want 
to hear again. It was turrible. But the 
masons went about their glorious work, pay- 
in’ little or no attention to the mournful jol- 
lifications of the disappointed. 

“Just then two militia officers came along 
in full-dress uniform. They had heard of the 


That Infamous Door 


177 


tragedy that was bein’ enacted, and had de- 
cided to join the official mourners of the 
passin’ door. 

^ Oh — ho — ho ! ’ sobbed brave Lieutenant 
Puggaree, who had been gazetted just a few 
days before. 

“ Ah, talk not of grief till you have see’d 
the grief of warlike men, to quote the old 
and well-know’d slang of the school-book. 
Wal — the Puggaree brand was nothing short 
of duvilish, for the misfortunate fellow’s 
newly developed social instincts received a 
shock that was turrible to see. 

^ Boo — hoo ! Boo — hoo ! Boo — hoo ! ’ he 
wailed in short, convulsive sobs, as what was 
left of the infamous Private Entrde got 
smaller and smaller. ^Boo — hoo! Boo — hoo! 
Boo — hoo ! Oh, you hard-hearted villain ! ’ he 
says, addressin’ his fellow officer. ‘ To think 
that you would be so disloyal as not to shed 
a tear, makes me sick to my stomach,’ he 
says. 

‘ Wal,’ says his chum, who was formerly 
from the country and who had only received 
a few lessons in don’t-cher-know English, ‘ I 
weally don’t know what would be most ap- 
pwopwiate for the doleful occasion,’ he says. 

“ ‘ Weep,’ says brave Lieutenant Puggaree. 

“ ‘ Wal — give me the pitch,’ says Captain 


178 


The Woman Hater 


Putty, who joined the militia for the purpose 
of hobnobbin’ with the aristocrats. 

^^^Boo — hoo!’ says Puggaree. 

“ ‘ Bow — ow! ^ says one of the poodles. 

‘‘‘Boo — bow!’ says brave Captain Putty. 

“ ‘ You’re off pitch,’ says Lieutenant Pug- 
garee. 

“ ‘ One note was flat,’ says Chollie Bawl- 
ing, ‘ for instead of imitatin’ the smokeless 
purity of Lieutenant Pugaree’s grief, you 
got some poodle into your lamentations,’ he 
says. 

“ By this time hundreds of weepin’ aristo- 
crats had congregated to witness the passin’ 
of the door, which had died to within one 
foot of the top. 

“‘Won’t you leave one foot at the top — 
just enough space for us to crawl through?’ 
shrieked one of the number — a woman, of 
course. But the relentless masons would not 
stop. They had evidently received instruc- 
tions from someone high in authority, and 
they were bound to carry out their instruc- 
tions to the letter. 

“ ‘ Have a little mercy! ’ howled another 
woman. ‘ J ust nine or ten inches of mercy,’ 
she says, ‘ to enable us to climb into guber- 
natorial headquarters,’ she says. But it was 
too late for mercy. The door had to go. The 


That Infamous Door 


179 


last stone was cemented into place, and the 
infamous Private Entrde into Government 
House — that disgrace to our manhood and to 
our civilization — passed into the vast cate- 
gory of the things that were. 

“ Wal — when that famous doon passed in 
its checks ; in other words, when it kicked the 
old and well-know’d bucket, those masons 
attached a bell to the masonry, and began to 
toll it. Ah, it was then that the grief be- 
came intense, for the cords of affection hitch- 
in^ the snobs to the door had been snapped, 
and the bleedin’ ends pained in a manner 
that was turrible to behold! Lamentations 
were more or less smothered, but it was the 
deluge of tears which filled the gutters and 
overflowed the streets that took my eye. 

‘ Look dJ here, Mr. Chollie Dawling,’ I 
says. ‘ WhaPs all the fuss about? ^ I says. 

“ ^ Don^t you see that door? ’ he says. 

‘No,’ I says, ‘ but I see the place where 
the door was,’ I says. 

“‘Wal,’ he says, ‘that’s the beginnin’ of 
the end of British rule in North America,’ he 
says. 

“ ‘ Is that so? ’ I says. ‘ Do you hear that 
bell?’ I says. 

“ ‘ Sure,’ he says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ I says, ‘ that’s the death-knell of 


180 The Woman Hater 

snobbery in this old and well-know’d city/ 
and I woke up, which was a good thing for 
Mr. Chollie Bawling. 

“ It was then twelve o’clock. A hundred 
shrill whistles from the shipping in port, 
bade farewell to the old year; a British 
warship, that was cornin’ up the harbour, 
fired a salute to the new year that was just 
makin’ its deboo; then, while the warship 
was slowly steamin’ up to the dockyard, her 
lusty-throated blue-jackets might be beared 
desecratin’ the night with something about 
Britannia. ‘ Rule, Britannia,’ they were 
singin’ 

‘ Rule, Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, 

Britons nuver shall be slaves : 

Rule, Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, 

Britons nuver shall be slaves ! ”’ 

Your dream is mighty interesting. Cap- 
tain,” said Bones, of The Thunderer , ‘‘ but 
surely, as a matter of fact, there was no such 
thing as that Private Entrde into Govern- 
ment House.” 

“ Wasn’t there, old chap? Why, the closin’ 
of that door was all the talk of Halifax at 
the time, and a fellow either had to talk 
about it or dream about it. I chose to dream 
about it, because there’s great satisfaction in 


That Infamous Door 


181 


dreamin’ about matters of history, particu- 
larly when the dream comes out the way you 
want it. But always remember, my dear 
Bones, that the snob-door was slammed shut 
by a noble hand — and that it was slammed 
to stay shut foruver! ” 

“ I don^t understand why they should make 
so much fuss over the closin’ of a door, if 
there were other doors to the gubernatorial 
palace,” said Little Frog Pond. 

“ Wal — it was this way, you see,” said the 
sea-dog. There was only one snob-door — 
only one entrance reserved for the black list 
among the aristocracy — those whose claims 
to bein’ thoroughbred aristocrats were be- 
yond dispute. All others — the great un- 
washed — the mixed herd — entered the palace 
by a common door. The Private Entrde was 
supposed to give an air of distinction to those 
who were thus admitted, but it was a dis- 
grace to our civilization, it was an insult to 
our manhood, and it had to go.” 

“ It is a pity you woke up. Captain,” said 
the old duffer from Juniperville. 

“The night was young,” the sea-dog re- 
plied. “I fell asleep again; and, as luck 
would have it, I dreamt that it was New 
Year’s Day, and that the new Lieutenant- 
Governor was holdin’ his first levee. I didn’t 


182 


The Woman Hater 


attend the function, although I was one of 
the aristocrats of the province, but I dreamt 
I was out takin’ stock of what was goin’ on. 

Mrs. Boggs attended, and so did Mrs. 
Anson-Spars, Mrs. Puggy-Short, Mrs. Tuft- 
Hunter, Mr. Bawling, Mr. Ollie, Miss Marion 
Boggs, Lieutenant Puggaree, Captain Putty, 
and a host of others, although they were 
so loud in their lamentations the night be- 
fore. All had to enter the palace by the same 
door — saints and sinners, bogus aristocrats 
and genuine aristocrats, doctors and lawyers, 
clergymen and merchants, men and women — 
all were put on the common footin’ of 
Canadian citizenship for the first time, and 
the change did them good, at least judgin’ 
from the way they acted on their way home. 

“ Game-leg Ollie forgot to walk lame for 
the first time in thirty years, and apparently 
lost his contempt for the sons and daughters 
of mere tradesmen, for he seemed to be at 
peace with the whole world. Mrs. Boggs and 
Mrs. Anson-Spars returned home arm in arm, 
each vyin’ with the other in an effort to be 
gracious; they had forgotten all about the 
fish, cetera, and the liquid damnation, of the 
night before. Mrs. Tuft-Hunter appeared 
out for the first time in seven years without 
that abominable poodle, and her face was 


That Infamous Door 


183 


lit up with smiles and smiles and smiles. 
Chollie Dawling’s confidence in British in- 
stitutions in North America had been com- 
pletely restored, Lieutenant Puggaree^s grief 
had been changed into boundless joy, and 
Captain Putty had found the right pitch, for 
his laughter was hearty and uproarious. 

The good Scotch welcome they all got at 
the gubernatorial palace knocked the snob- 
bery out of them, and they came away feelin^ 
better, broader, and happier in uvery way. 
But it took courage to close that door in the 
teeth of rampant snobbery; fact, it required 
more courage to choke off that Private 
Entrde that it does to win a Victoria Cross.’’ 

“ You’re right there. Captain,” said Bones. 

Of course, I am,” said the sea-dog. 

But what was wrong with the people 
when they wanted a private entrance into 
gubernatorial headquarters?” asked Little 
Frog Pond. “ Was it because they were 
genuine aristocrats, or was it pure cussed- 
ness? What’s your idea of an aristocrat, 
Captain? ” 

I don’t know what was wrong with the 
people when they wanted a private entrance 
into gubernatorial headquarters,” said the 
smuggler, taking the Little Frog Ponder’s 
questions one by one. It may have been the 


184 


The Woman Hater 


genuineness of their claims, or it may not, 
but I am inclined to think it was pure cussed- 
ness. As to my idea of an aristocrat, my 
dear fellows, it^s not the common idea, for 
some people would say that an aristocrat was 
a person with a highly developed proclivity 
for enterin^ a building by an entrance that 
was denied uverybody else. For instance, if 
you invited him into your barn, instead of 
enterin’ by the ordinary door, he would want 
to crawl in by the hens’ ten-by-twelve-inch 
door — the Private Entrde Extraordinary to 
your horse-stable. 

It’s expensive at times to pose as an 
aristocrat. I don’t know whether I told you 
about Johnnie Robin or not, but his old man 
lost all his money in stocks, and Johnnie 
simply had to quit loafin’ and get to work. 
It wasn’t hard for the lad to get work, for 
there was a climber in business who was only 
too glad to give Johnnie a job, thinkin’ he 
got a corner on the joker of the social pack, 
but while Johnnie was quite pleasant with 
his plebean employer durin’ business hours, 
he nuver could quite get down to the level of 
speakin’ to him on the street. For the first 
offence, he received black looks from his em- 
ployer; for the second offence, he got the 
door. A bloated idea of a fellow’s own im- 


That Infamous Door 


185 


portance is a rather expensive luxury to 
carry about, particularly if his old man is 
high and dry on the rocks. But that isn’t my 
idea of an aristocrat. 

Now, there was Left-handed Billie, from 
Little Frog Pond. He was as ugly as any 
denizen of the bottomless pits, but he came 
as near bein’ an aristocrat as any man uver 
I see’d. His ambition in life seems to have 
been nuver to offend anybody, for his heart 
was as big as a wash-tub, and it was spillin’ 
over with the warm milk of human kindness. 
If any one was poor and in need of help, all 
he had to do was to call on Left-handed Billie, 
who would have died a rich man only he had 
such a highly developed proclivity for givin’ 
things away. He wore his clothes until they 
were in green tatters so that he could give 
away the money he had saved to buy new 
raiment, and so far did his left-handed gen- 
erosity carry him, that when he was dyin’ of 
consumption, he gave his last dollar to buy a 
pair of crutches for a poor lame boy instead 
of buyin’ some medicine he needed for him- 
self. 

With all his good qualities, howuver, this 
clean-hearted old sinner could use the most 
picturesque profanity of any man uver I met 
in my life. But that is make no difference. 


186 


The Woman Hater 


Left-handed Billie was one of nature’s noble- 
men, and he would scorn such things as 
Private Entries, whether ordinary or ex- 
traordinary. 

We must have shed a bucketful of honest 
tears over the poor old fellow’s grave, and 
ril bet you when he entered the promised 
land he found ten thousand angels tryin’ a 
race to get the first shake of his generous 
hand. I am not very pious myself, my dear 
fellows, as you well know, but I’d rather 
have poor old Left-handed Billie’s proclivity 
for givin’ things away, to help me when I 
get across, than any proclivity for enterin’ 
houses by a special door, for one thing is 
sure, my dear friends, there is no such thing 
as a Private Entrde to the old and well- 
know’d Mansions of the Blest.” 


CHAPTER XL 


THE PHILOSOPHY OF THIRST. 

About dark that evening, and after the 
guests had gone, Jo For Short came to the 
house and asked for Captain Roderick. A 
lengthy interview followed. 

Jo For Short seems chuck full of busi- 
ness, Captain,” said Bones, “ at least judging 
from the important look on his face and the 
roll of papers he carried with him.” 

Yes,” said the sea-dog, the Juniperville 
nuisance was rampant on the booze question. 
The roll of papers Jo For Short carried with 
him was a petition to the Governor-General 
of Canada in Council, prayin^ for the repeal 
of the Order in Council bringin’ the ^cott Act 
into force, the Scott Act bein’ a local option 
prohibition law, my dear Bones. 

‘ What have you there? ’ I says to Jo. 

“ ^ Dynamite,’ he says; ^ nitro-glycerine for 
prohibition,’ he says. 

^ Wal,’ I says, ^ what are you cornin’ here 
for?’ 

18 '^ 


188 


The Woman Hater 


“ ^ I want your signature,’ says the natural* 
born judge with the divine call to the Bench. 

‘ We’ve got to get one-fourth of the electors 
before we can get a poll,’ he says, and by 
gettin’ a poll he meant gettin’ a vote for and 
against the snufiSin’ out of the Scott Act. 

^ So you are in favor of high license? ’ I 
says. 

^ No, I am not,’ he says. 

^^^Wal,’ I says, ^ as soon as the Scott Act 
is repealed, the Liquor License Act will in- 
stantly come into force,’ I says. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ he says, ^ but we are goin’ to use 
the prohibition clauses of the Liquor License 
Act, we are goin’ to fight against givin’ 
licenses — that’s the stuff,’ he says. 

“ ^ If the game is high license,’ I says, ^ then 
you have me, but if the game is merely to 
substitute a worse form of prohibition for a 
bad one,’ I says, ^ then, you may go to — dash 
— with your petition so far as I am con- 
cerned,’ I says. 

^ I am certainly surprised to hear an old 
smuggler talk like that,’ he says. 

Wal — that riled me up. 

^ You miserable scoundrel,’ I says, ^ don’t 
you be surprised at anything,’ I says. ^ The 
Scott Act provides for a term of imprison- 
ment without the option of a fine; the Liquor 


The Philosophy of Thirst 189 

License Act doesn^t. Both have provisions for 
the destruction of liquor/ I says. ^ The ^cott 
Act is more effective if enforced/ I says, ‘ so 
if it^s goin’ to be the prohibition farce — and 
any law is a farce unless it is enforced — let 
us keep the present farce; otherwise/ I says, 
^ lePs have high license.’ 

^ You are certainly a quare politician/ he 
says. 

^ Quare or not,’ I says, ^ I am honest, and 
I am not goin’ to lend my name to any of 
your schemes, Jo For Short/ I says. 

^ I’ll not forget this when your next elec- 
tion comes off/ he says. ^ You got my vote 
for the first and last time.’ 

^ You can vote as you darn please, I says. 
^ Your ballot only counts one/ I says, ‘ and 
one vote displaced in my majority amounts 
to mighty little.’ 

^ You are mighty independent/ he says. 

^ Have a drink, Jo For Short?’ I says, 
gettin’ conciliatory, for I know’d what Jo 
wanted. 

“Wal — ^you should have see’d the light 
breakin’ out all over the prohibition ambas- 
sador’s face. 

^ Don’t mind if I do,’ he says, as I handed 
him the bottle. 

It was no use handin’ him a glass, for a 


190 


The Woman Hater 


glassful of booze wouldn’t be sufficient to 
moisten the dry spot in Jo For Short’s throat. 
The bottle held a quart of booze, over a pint 
of which went to wet Jo’s throat, and the 
scamp left his prohibition papers on my table 
to give him an excuse to call to-morrow 
for the rest of that bottle. But I took 
mighty good care that he didn’t get the 
chance. 

It makes me sick when I hear people 
talkin’ of legislatin’ a man into bein’ sober. 
You might as well try to legislate a man into 
bein’ pious. Take Jo For Short for instance. 
Do you think a whole dozen prohibition laws 
would be sufficient to keep the dry spot in 
his throat even moist? No, sir. You might 
as well try to wet the sand of the great 
desert of Sahara with a thimble. 

“ Jo For Short acquired the booze habit in 
the ordinary way. His father had a dry 
throat ahead of him, and ten to one his 
grandfather was similarly affiicted, so you 
see poor Jo For Short’s dry-throat predisposi- 
tion was quite natural. Besides, when Jo 
was a mere kid in short dresses, he developed 
a very keen sense of smell by comparin’ the 
odour emitted by an uncorked whiskey bottle 
with his father’s breath, which had to pass 
over the dry whiskey-moistened spot on its 


The Philosophy of Thirst 191 

way from the paternal lungs to the outer 
world. Why, before little Jo could string a 
dozen words together, he would sit down on 
the floor with an empty whiskey bottle, and 
after pokin’ his nose down to the snout of 
the bottle, would look wise and say, ^ Pa 
That wasn’t a bad beginnin’, old chap, al- 
though Jo nuver developed into a good judge 
of whiskey. 

“ But the misfortunate fellow is more to be 
pitied than to be blamed. He took whoopin’ 
cough early in life, growin’ into what you 
might call a sickly child; and his mother, 
good-hearted woman that she was, got an 
idea into her head that a little whiskey 
would be good for Jo, so she began to give 
the misfortunate kid a little whiskey in milk, 
a couple of times a day, until he got as 
bloated as a brewery millionaire. Not only 
that, but all the moisture dried out of the 
spot in Jo For Short’s throat, and the poor 
fellow has spent more time worryin’ over 
that spot and tryin’ to keep it wet than he 
did tryin’ to make a decent livin’. 

Now, no matter how good Jo’s intentions 
may be, and no matter how hard he works 
for prohibition, that dry spot is always with 
him, ready to soak up any available moisture 
in the shape of alcoholic stimulant that may 


192 


The Woman Hater 


come his way. What Jo For ShorFs mother 
should have done was to give him plenty 
birch-rod tonic in mild doses, before and 
after meals, and between meals whenuver 
necessary, instead of her miserable whiskey- 
and-milk decoction. Then the fellow’s dry- 
throat proclivities would have remained 
undeveloped, and he would have acquired the 
art of hustlin’, for he would have had to 
more than hustle if he was desirous of 
dodgin lickin’s. 

I had rather a funny experience with 
Jo which I mustn’t forget to tell you. Bones, 
old man. One cold night, about two years 
ago, just as I was goin’ to bed, a rap came 
to the door. 

Who’s there?’ I says. 

^ Jo For Short,’ was the answer. 

“It was Jo, too, sure enough. The poor 
fellow had been boozin’ in Sydney that after- 
noon, and by the time he got home, the 
stimulatin’ effect of the cursed stuff began 
to die out, and he was in a duvil of a pre- 
dicament. It was that spot in his throat, of 
course, and he made a bee-line for me. The 
first glimpse I got of him, I know’d well 
enough what he was after, and I talked 
about uverything else under the sun except 
booze untn the poor, mi^fortunate fellow’s 


The Philosophy of Thirst 


193 


blood must have stopped circulatin’ in his 
throat. Wal — I began to feel sorry for him 
at last, so I produced a small pint flask of 
the best Scotch whiskey made, and handed it 
out to the thirsty pilgrim who almost cried 
with joy. 

^ Is this all for me? ’ he says. 

‘ Yes,’ I says, ‘ all except one drink for 
the morning,’ I says, and his eyes filled with 
tears and a quare light seemed to break out 
all over his face. 

“ Needless to say, he lost no time in put- 
tin’ down all the v/hiskey in the flask with 
the exception of one drink, which he thought 
I wanted for myself. But I am very indif- 
ferent about booze at times, and this was 
one of them, so I put the flask away for the 
morning. 

Meanwhile, Jo was smackin’ his lips. 

^ You are purty darn fond of the taste of 
the cursed stuff, Jo,’ I says. 

‘ Wal,’ he says, ‘ it’s not the taste of it. 
Captain; it’s the glory. It’s the glory, 
Captain; it’s the glory,’ he says, 4t’s the 
glory.’ 

“ ^ What do you mean by the glory? ’ I says, 
although I know’d what it meant just as well 
as he did. 

‘ Wal,’ he says, ^ before I got that booze, 


194 


The Woman Hater 


I felt as if I had a ton weight on my heart 
and as if uvery friend I had to the world was 
after goin’ back on me; fact, I felt as if uvery 
nerve in my body had its mouth wide open 
callin^ for a drink. But as soon as I got that 
booze down, the weight rolled away and my 
burnin’ thirst was slaked in the glory that 
was pumped all over me. It’s not the taste 
of the booze that makes me so fond of the 
cursed stuff; it’s the glory, Captain,’ he says; 
^ it’s the glory.’ 

There’s your prohibition ambassador, 
mister; there’s the type of human being 
that no parliament in the world could legis- 
late into a sober man, and I want to say 
right here that there are a whole lot of Jo 
For Shorts in this world. There are mil- 
lions and millions of poor duvils like Jo, born 
with a dry-throat predisposition which 
would nuver have been developed had the 
booze been kept away from them when they 
were kids. 

^ Close up the booze-joints,’ says the poor, 
misguided prohibitionist who dreams of a 
dry world with no Old Nick. But even if 
you do close up the booze-joints with local 
option prohibition, what is there to prevent 
a half a dozen Jo For Shorts dubbin’ to- 
gether and sendin’ for a cask of booze into 


The Philosophy of Thirst 


195 


which they can insert a half a dozen qnills 
and suck liquid damnation' up against the 
dry spots in their throats until they get more 
like beasts of the field than like human 
beings? 

I well remember the first time I uver 
went to Halifax. I was only a lad, and I 
made the trip afore the mast with Captain 
Dudley, in the old Sea Bird. There was a 
young lady there from Big Frog Pond, who 
acted in the capacity of nurse girl to one of 
the south end aristocrats, and one day I see^d 
her perambulatin’ down towards Point Pleas- 
ant with the heir apparent to her employer’s 
property in a baby carriage ahead of her. 
The kid was bawlin’ like a young two-year- 
old, and I came along to see what the matter 
was. 

^ What’s wrong, Mary? ’ I says. 

^ Bad temper, Rory,’ she says. ^ This kid 
just raises Old Nick uvery now and then,’ 
she says. ‘ Troubled with some kind of sick- 
ness,’ she says. ^ But missus gave me a bot- 
tle of medicine to take along with me,’ she 
says, ‘ and whenuver the little duvil begins to 
howl, I just give him a couple of teaspoon- 
fuls, and he shuts up at onct.’ 

She then produced the bottle, and takin’ 
a teaspoon from the carriage, gave the kid 


196 


The Woman Hater 


a dose of the medicine. Wal — you should 
have see’d him. He was only a year old, but 
he puckered up his little mouth and took two 
teaspoonfuls of that medicine without a 
whimper, then turned over against the side 
of the carriage and went to sleep.” 

From the look on the kid’s nose — ^it had 
already begun to assume some elegant 
tints — I suspected that the medicine wasn’t 
a prohibition decoction, so I got Mary to 
let me taste the stuff, which was nothing 
more nor less than gin — ordinary, undiluted 
gin. 

^^Wal — ^you could have sold Mary for a 
cent when I told her what she was givin’ the 
kid. She resigned her position that very day, 
and when I got back to Big Frog Pond, two 
weeks later, Mary was home ahead of me. 
She was a good girl, and didn’t want to 
shoulder the moral responsibility of makin’ 
a drunkard of that youngster. 

There you are again, old chap. Now, 
what’s the use talkin’ prohibition to that 
fellow at this stage of the game, when his 
throat is so dry that if he didn’t keep wettin’ 
it continually, it would ketch fire spontan- 
eously. What’s the good of the Scott Act or 
the prohibition clauses of the Liquor License 
Act to that drouthy child of gin? Why, a 


The Philosophy of Thirst 197 

fellow with his highly developed dry-throat 
proclivities would almost commit murder 
for one drink of booze when the spot gets 
drouthy. 

I suppose his mother now thinks, if she 
is alive, that she is the most abused woman 
this side of the brimstone belt; that her first- 
born is nothing but a heap of ingratitude, 
cetera, but she could have saved herself a 
great deal of anguish and heart agony had 
she given the nurse a shingle instead of a 
decoction of gin, with instructions that the 
shingle was to be used in generous doses 
uvery time the kid squealed. 

That’s the kind of medicine Pd prescribe 
for a kid like that, and I want to say right 
here that a shingle would be far less expen- 
sive than gin, besides bein’ far more effective. 
There is nothing that’ll keep a kid from 
worryin’ about liquid refreshment like a good 
spankin’ now and then.” 

What do you think of those fellows who 
drink to drown their sorrow?” asked The 
Thunderer’s irrepressible. 

You might as well try to drown a fish,” 
answered the sea-dog, for if there is one 
place more than another that sorrow thrives, 
it is in the flowin’ bowl. A man feels the 
sharp pangs of sorrow. He soaks them in a 


198 


The Woman Hater 


decoction of booze, which has the effect of 
foolin’ him into believin’ that the sorrow is 
gone, but as soon as the alcoholic glory dies 
out of his body, up crops sorrow again, 
bigger, sassier, and more rampant than be- 
fore. It’s quare, too, but the more you try 
to drown it, the bigger it becomes. 

The best way to stand trouble is to sit up 
and look pleasant, and if that won’t do, go 
and find someone who has more trouble than 
you have and compare notes. Then you’ll be 
mighty thankful that you’re not the other 
fellow. That’s the philosophy of it. But 
there is no such thing as drownin’ sorrow. 
Sorrow is medicine — some of the bitters of 
life — and it has got to be taken like castor 
oil, paregoric, cetera. But you can’t drown 
it, my dear fellow. It won’t be drowned.” 

^^Well, Captain, what’s your idea about 
temperance? ” 

My idea is this. Ketch the kids when 
they’re young, and keep them away from 
booze. Then they will have no dry spot — no 
cravin’ for the cussed stuff. That’s my idea. 
Teach the youngsters of our glorious country 
to be shy — shy of the bottle; and impress 
upon them the necessity of teetotalism if 
they want to win distinction in the battle of 
life, for booze is booze, my dear old Bones, 


The Philosophy of Thirst 199 


and will remain booze as long as there are 
any dry throats to moisten. 

Tea and coffee aren^t mnch better. They 
stimulate and give a false idea of strength. 
They sometimes cheat a fellow into believin^ 
that he’s physically fit, when tired nature 
demands a rest. That’s the danger of too 
much tea and coffee, which are usually harm- 
less when taken in moderation. 

There was no substitute found yet for the 
three plenties — plenty of fresh air, plenty of 
plain grub, and plenty of work. That glorious 
trio is to blame for more great men than 
anything else I know of.” 

I suppose the question of prohibition 
comes up quite often in the provincial legisla- 
ture?” asked Bones, of The Thunderer. 

“ Wal — no,” answered the sea-dog. It 
came up onct, the first session I was there, 
and I’ll nuver forget the commotion it made 
as long as there is breath in my body. It was 
turrible; fact, it made such a vivid impres- 
sion on me that I dreamt about it that night. 

I thought I was in the glorious assembly 
of my native province, and that an honour- 
able member moved a resolution advocatin’ 
provincial prohibition, puttin’ the case as 
strong as uver I beared the prohibition the- 
ory put in my life. Then there was all kinds 


200 


The Woman Hater 


of talkin’ for and against the resolution until 
finally one old fellow thought he should open 
up his flood-gates of wisdom — ^that he ought 
to say something. Wal — when he arose, 
and addressed Mr. Speaker, he made the 
most uproarious noise uver I beared in my 
life. 

“ ‘ Mr. Speaker,’ he says, and the old stone 
building shook to its foundations. Pictures 
on the wall moved to and fro, ladies screamed 
and then fainted in the galleries, large slices 
of slate loosened from the historic roof, dogs 
howled in the street, and his poor, mis- 
fortunate fellow members were terrified be- 
yond description. Policemen hurried in from 
the street and soldiers rushed down from the 
citadel, thinkin’ that an earthquake was in 
progress, or that a portion of the earth under 
the provincial building had given away even 
unto the bottomless pits, for the noise ap- 
peared to come from something bottomless, 
something turribly vast in its emptiness. 

“ ^ Put on the brakes,’ one member advised, 
peepin’ up over the top of his desk. 

“ ‘ Shut off the air,’ another suggested, 
from under the reporters’ table. 

“ ‘ Spare the historic building,’ another 
yelled from outside, through one of the open 
windows. 


The Philosophy of Thirst 201 

^ Spare the city of Halifax/ a pious citi- 
zen shrieked, sinkin’ on his knees on the 
street. 

‘ Mr. Speaker,^ again thundered the hon- 
ourable member, louder, if anything, than 
before. 

‘ You should have see’d the panic that 
ensued, for there was a mad rush for the 
doors, each trampin’ on the other’s corns, all 
fleein’ as from an eruption of Vesuvius. 

But when the house was completely 
empty, I walked up and took Mr. Speaker’s 
place. 

^ Now, you uproarious fellow,’ I says, 
‘ let’s hear what you have got to say.’ 

“ ‘ Mr Speaker,’ he bellowed, like a huge 
fog-horn belchin’ forth an accumulation of 
the tempests of the ocean, ^ I rise to a point 
of order,’ he says. 

^ Is that all?’ I says. 

‘ That’s all,’ he says. 

^ Wal,’ I says, ^ I have a notion to rise you 
to a point of disorder with the toe of my 
foot/ I says. ^This old and well-know’d 
building wasn’t constructed along the lines 
of a pipe for conveyin’ air compressed to the 
tune of one thousand pounds to the cubic 
inch/ I says, and he collapsed like a tele- 
scope.” 


202 


The Woman Hater 


Was that all he had to say? ” Mr. Bones 
ventured. 

That was all, my dear friend,’^ answered 
the smuggler. Ah, but it was that thirst 
which was responsible! Had there been no 
thirst for booze, there would have been no 
prohibition resolution, and had there been 
no prohibition resolution, there would have’ 
been no point of order.’^ 

^^Will that glorious day ever come when 
there will be no booze consumed? asked the 
reporter. 

WaV’ drawled the sea-dog, I don’t sup- 
pose there will be any booze consumed on the 
last day, if that’s any consolation to you. 
But it will not be because there won’t be 
people anxious to drown their fright in the 
flowin’ bowl. 

“ Some people drink for joy, others for sor- 
row, but some people will simply drink what- 
uver, like the drouthy members of the Little 
Frog Pond Debatin’ Society. If someone 
cracked a good joke, it was a drink; if some- 
one else tried to crack a joke that refused to 
crack, it was another drink. It was a drink 
for a good speech, a drink for a bad speech, 
a drink for a sassy speech, and a drink for no 
speech; fact, it was nothing but drink, drink, 
drink, until the Debatin’ Society orators were 


The Philosophy of Thirst 203 


uproarious. You know about the old and 
well-know’d phenomenon of thirst, old 
chap! 

But surely there must be some way of 
quenching that awful thirst, Captain? ’’ 

There is only one way,” declared the sea- 
dog. For those that have dug the drouthy 
hole, let them fill it up, and for those that 
have nuver done any dry diggin^, let them 
nuver dig. The easiest way to fill a hole is to 
have none to fill, and the easiest way to 
quench one’s thirst is to have no thirst to 
quench.” 

That may be all right in theory. Captain,” 
The Thunderer’s irrepressible argued, but in 
practice, surely a little drop of good whis- 
key for two temperate old cronies like 
yourself and myself doesn’t do very much 
harm.” 

Bones, you’re a bad egg,” the smuggler 
chuckled. You had your eye on that bottle 
of whiskey in the cupboard all the evening. 
And do you know what, my dear fellow?” 

No; what is it. Captain?” 

little thirst is a mighty glorious al- 
though a very dangerous thing, and a little 
good Scotch to slake it is an equally glorious 
although an equally dangerous thing. Of 
course, teetotalism is the perfection of thirst. 


204 


The Woman Hater 


but it’s not the glory of it. You get the real 
glory the morning after, when you’d wish 
your throat was connected with the city 
waterworks, or with the luscious wetness of 
some well.” 


CHAPTER XIL 


MAMIE AND DAWN. 

Captain Roderick left Big Frog Pond, the 
following morning, and cruised the beautiful 
Bras d’Or Lakes with Mr. Bones, who had 
learned not only to admire the sea-dog 
greatly but to take a deep personal interest 
in everything he did. Captain Roderick, on 
the other hand, became deeply attached to 
The Thunderer’s irrepressible, who made a 
sterling friend. They spent six happy weeks 
together aboard the Lady Eileen; then, they 
returned to Big Frog Pond, as the reporter’s 
time in Cape Breton was getting short. 

Mr. Bones had been busy with pencil and 
note-book during the first few days he spent 
with the sea-dog, but he soon fell into the 
easy-going ways of the people. He did not 
lose interest in the smuggler’s friends, how- 
ever, and the first morning after their return, 
he pursued his enquiries about the fate of 
George Dawn. 

How did George Dawn get along after 
205 


206 


The Woman Hater 


you got him that job’ in the Federal 
Bank, Captain?” he asked, as he and Cap- 
tain Koderick were returning from a long 
walk. 

^^Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, ^^you are 
better than a pump. Bones, old pal, for if 
there is one thing you are good at, it is pump- 
in’ me. But I don’t dislike bein’ pumped on 
one subject, and that subject is George Dawn, 
who turned out to be a mighty clever fellow, 
I tell you. 

^ How did you like the chap I shoved on to 
you?’ I says to Mr. Hawkins, General Man- 
ager of the Federal Bank, one day I happened 
to meet him on the street, a couple of weeks 
after I got Dawn the job. 

^ Like him? ’ he says. ‘ Shoved him on to 
us?’ he says. <Why,’ he says, wish you 
could shove a half a dozen more men on us 
like George Dawn,’ he says, ^ for the fellow is 
a regular encyclopedia of bank lore. He’s a 
wonder — that’s the plain English of it,’ he 
says, ^ for there is nothing we put him at that 
he didn’t do as well as some of the oldest 
fellows in the service. He’s an excep- 
tionally brainy, gentlemanly chap, and a born 
banker,’ he says. 

^ A born banker? ’ I says. 

^ Yes,’ he says, ‘ a born banker/ 


Mamie and Dawn 


207 


^ Pm glad to know it/ I says. ^ Good 
morning/ I says, and I passed on. 

^ A born banker,’ I kept repeatin’ to my- 
self. ‘ A born banker,’ I says. ‘ Wal/ I says, 
^ I must see that the misfortunate fellow lives 
up to the noblest and best traditions of the 
bankin’ business.’ I know’d well enough, old 
man, that George Dawn had lots of brains; 
I know’d, too, that he was a duvil of a nice 
fellow; but I was well aware of the fact that 
he was woefully deficient in one particular, 
and that was, he had no girl — no steady, to 
quote the slang of the game. I was therefore 
bound to help the poor fellow out in that re- 
gard, for a bank clerk without a girl, without 
a steady, is one of the darnest freaks that 
uver cussed any civilized country; fact, he’s 
a social curiosity, a veritable two-headed 
calf. 

So, when I found out that George’s good- 
lookin’ chum, who was runnin’ the Discount 
Ledger, had sent his photograph to a girl in 
North Sydney, to a girl in Glace Bay, to a 
girl in Truro, to a girl in Kentville, to a girl 
in New Glasgow, to a girl in Yarmouth, to a 
girl in Arichat, and to no less than two girls 
in Halifax, one at each end of the city, I 
began to feel that it was my duty to see that 
George Dawn had at least one girl, when 


208 


The Woman Hater 


almost uvery unmarried member of the staff 
had sent autograph copies of their old and 
well-know^d faces to from six to fourteen 
girls for decoration purposes, for they were 
all probably more or less good-lookin’. 

“ But where was I to get a girl for Dawn, 
nephew of the great Lord Bismuth, with a 
family tree big enough to shade the whole 
side of a house, and blood flowin’ through 
his veins that could be traced back to some 
of those old Danish pirates that crossed over 
to England about the year King Alfred the 
Great got the callin’ down from the cow- 
herd’s wife for lettin’ the oatmeal bannocks 
he had charge of cookin’ get too much of the 
fire? That was my predicament. 

Oh, if the Halifax eligibles only knew 
that George Dawn had an uncle who was a 
a genuine pew-holder in the glorious British 
House of Lords, wouldn’t there be excite- 
ment among the aristocrats! But I told 
George Dawn that there was one thing he 
must keep strictly to himself. 

^ What’s that. Captain? ’ he says. 

“ ‘ Your family tree,’ I says. 

« ^ Why? ’ he says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ I says, ^ hittin’ on an excuse which, 
although purty darn lame, was better than 
none, ^ you know,’ I says, ^ my family bush is 


Mamie and Dawn 


209 


so small that it wouldn’t be sufficient to keep 
a couple of grass-hoppers from gettin’ wet, 
so I am kind of sensitive about this family- 
tree business/ I says. ' For the sake of peace, 
therefore/ I says, ^ I have to request you to 
refrain from plantin’ your mighty English 
oak in front of your boardin’-house/ I says. 
‘Wait/ I says, ‘until you have a house of 
your own,’ I says. 

“ ‘ All right. Captain/ he says, ‘ I’ll do any- 
thing you say, for you’re the best friend I 
have in the world.’ 

“ I was boardin’ at Mrs. Captain John’s 
durin’ the session, and my secretary, Dannie 
Donald the Bad Man, was boardin’ out near 
the college. To keep Dannie from makin’ me 
an excuse for callin’ to see Mary Captain 
John three or four times a week, therefore, 
I rented an office in the Dufferin Block on 
Barrington Street, so when I needed Dannie’s 
assistance, which wasn’t any oftener than 
three or four times a week, I got him to call 
to see me at my office, which was Dawn’s 
principal loafin’ quarters, for the fellow loved 
me like a sick child loves its mother. 

“ Miss Mamie Widow Billie the Gentle- 
man, B. A., and Mamie’s mother, the old 
hen herself, were visitin’ Mrs. Captain John 
at the time, so when I was stuck for an 


210 


The Woman Hater 


eligible Cape Breton girl to introduce Dawn 
to, Mamie came into my mind. 

^^Now, I want to say right here that 
Mamie struck me as a girl that would win 
Dawn’s heart as quick as a chunk of steak 
would win the heart of a hungry dog, and I 
was as prejudiced against Mamie as I am 
against Old Nick himself, with the story 
about the dancin’ lessons fresh in my mind. 
But even viewed under the hostile eyes of 
a strong personal dislike, Mamie struck me 
as the girl of all others that could make 
Dawn happy, so I came to the conclusion 
that if she suited Dawn, I’d have no serious 
objections, as I intended to drop the fellow 
like the proverbial hot potato as soon as he 
got hitched up. 

^‘Wal — one evening Dawn came saunter- 
in’ into my office after his day’s work was 
done. He was a handsome fellow, to begin 
with, although he was a little too fair with 
his flaxen hair and eyebrows and his light 
blue eyes. But that is make no difference. 
He was particularly happy this evening, 
and when you want to get a fly to walk 
into your parlour, that’s the mood to ketch 
him in. 

‘ How’s uverything, my boy? ’ I says. 

‘ Fine, thank you. Captain,’ he says, with 


Mamie and Dawn 


211 


a look of gratitude in his deep blue eyes that 
would make any fellow feel good. 

‘ I suppose you started in sendin’ your 
photographs to the girls like the rest of the 
bank fellows?^ I says. 

‘ No/ he says, a cloud of sorrow pas sin’ 
over his face. ‘ I have a wound that is not 
quite healed yet,’ he says, ‘ so I decided not 
to take in any social functions for some time 
to come,’ he says. 

^^^Wal,’ I says, Hhere is a young lady 
here in the city that I want you to meet,’ I 
says. ‘ She’s a beauty, to begin with,’ I says. 

^ Her hair is dark,’ I says, ^ her eyes are 
brown, her cheeks are rosy; she plays all the 
classic masterpieces on the piano; she sings 
like a nightingale; she is a university grad- 
uate, and she can talk I don’t know how 
many languages. Besides,’ I says, ^ she has 
a family tree big enough to shade a whole 
lawn,’ I says, winkin’ at Old Nick who must 
have been around, although I couldn’t see 
him. 

^ I should like to meet her, I’m sure,’ says 
Dawn indifferently. 

“ I know’d well enough he was kind of 
sore after the way that false-hearted English 
girl used him, and I rather admired him for 
it, as I have mighty little use for the cussed 


212 The Woman Hater 

sex myself, on general principles. But I 
was bound that the fellow I shoved on the 
Federal Bank wouldn’t be behind the other 
fellows, so I decided that Dawn and Mamie 
should meet before very long. 

a i There’s a wealthy doctor from New 
York that’s breakin’ his neck after this 
charmin’ young lady,’ I says, with another 
wink at the proprietor of the lower regions, 
for it could be none other than his satanic 
majesty who could suggest such an abomi- 
nable lie to a fellow. Wal — you should have 
see’d George Dawn settin’ up and payin’ 
attention. ^ To tell you the truth, my boy,’ 
I says, ‘ I haven’t much use for the doctor, 
and I want someone to cut him out,’ I says. 

‘ Bah Jove, Captain, I’d like to meet that 
girl,’ says Dawn, who bit like a hungry 
trout. 

I was late gettin’ home that evening, and 
all the women folks were out except Mamie 
who stayed in purposely to get me my tea, 
which had a tendency to break some of the 
raw edges off my prejudice against her. 
Wal — she more than put herself out to 
please me at the tea table, and by the time 
I was through eatin’ — and I was mighty 
hungry, I tell you — I found that I had about 
forgiven Mamie for the inglorious stunt of 


Mamie and Dawn 


213 


squealin^ about the lessons in deportment, 
cetera. 

^Can you keep a secret?’ I says to her, 
knowin’ well enough that she couldn’t. 

“ ‘ You bet I can,’ she says. 

^ Wal,’ I says, ^ I have something to tell 
you.’ 

‘ What is it? ’ she says, cornin’ right back 
at me, for it was Eve that was croppin’ out 
away down through the centuries. 

“ ‘ There’s a swell fellow in one of the 
banks here,’ I says, ‘who is a nephew of 
Lord Bismuth, one of the leadin’ pew-holders 
in the British house of lords,’ I says, ‘ with 
a family tree big enough to build a hundred 
yards of fence out of.’ 

“‘What’s his name?’ she says. ‘What’s 
he look like?’ she says. ‘Is he old?’ she 
says. 

“ ‘ Just possess your genial soul in patience 
for a couple of minutes, Mamie,’ I says. 

“ ‘ Oh, Captain, I’m just dyin’ with curios- 
ity,’ she says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ I says, ‘ to keep you from goin’ up 
with the angels, Mamie,’ I says, ‘I’ll tell 
you that he’s fair, young, handsome, highly 
educated; a graduate of one of the leadin’ 
Old Country universities, and a mighty at- 
tractive fellow,’ I says. 


214 The Woman Hater 

‘ Oh, I do wish you would bring him 
around!^ says Mamie, which convinced me 
that she was just dyin^ to meet him.” 

Did she keep the secret of Dawn’s iden- 
tity? ” asked the reporter. 

She didn’t get any such secret out of me 
up to that time,” answered the smuggler. 

I took good care about that on account of 
my other experience with the same girl. But 
I know’d she told her mother about the 
lord’s nephew, for next morning at break- 
fast the old girl nearly gave me the earache 
talkin’ to me about their family bush. 

^^Wal — when I went down town that 
morning, who should I meet but Dawn. 
^ When are you goin’ to introduce me to that 
charmin’ Cape Breton girl?’ was one of the 
first questions he asked me. 

“‘The first good chance,’ I says. ‘You 
know girls are qaure,’ I says, and he sighed 
as much as to say that some of them were 
purty darn quare. ‘But rest assured,’ I 
says, ‘that if I can outwit that New York 
saw-bones,’ I says, ‘ he will be outwitted. I 
don’t know how it is. Dawn,’ I says, ‘ but I 
have a sort of paternal interest in that girl, 
and I want to see her married to some hand- 
some young fellow, yourself preferred,’ I 
says, ‘ if you are willin’ and we can succeed 


Mamie and Dawn 


215 


in side-trackin^ that w'ealthy doctor from 
New York.’ 

^ Bah J ove/ he says, ^ Pd like to meet 
that girl,’ he says, and I could see at a glance 
that he was gettin’ purty darn interested.” 

^^Was Mamie equally interested?” Bones 
asked. 

Interested? ” repeated the philosopher. 
^^Wal — I should say she was. She nearly 
bothered the life out of me. 

‘ When are you goin’ to bring the lord’s 
nephew along?’ was a question she asked 
me about twenty times a day. ^ I am just 
dyin’ to meet him.’ 

‘ Have patience, Mamie,’ I used to say 
to her. ^ Uverything comes to the person 
who knows how to wait,’ I says, ^ even to 
the pleasure of drawin’ his last breath,’ I 
says, ^ so you must have patience, Mamie,’ I 
says. 

“ ‘ Don’t keep me waitin’ too long. Cap- 
tain, please,’ she says to me one evening, 
about a week later. 

“ ^ All right,’ I says. ^ You go upstairs to 
your room and put on your best clothes, and 
if I think you look fit to smash the heart of 
a lord’s nephew. I’ll bring him along,’ I says. 

“ Wal — she put on her best clothes, and I 
want to say right here that when she came 


216 The Woman Hater 

downstairs she looked like a princess. ^ How 
do you think I look, Captain?^ she says. 

^^^Wal,’ I says, eyin’ her critically, 
really don’t know, Mamie, but I guess you’ll 
do,’ I says. 

It was no use for me to tell that daughter 
of Eve that she looked queenly, for then 
she’d get actin’ like a queen, which would 
spoil the whole game, for Dawn was only a 
lord’s nephew. You see I was bound that 
any of Dawn’s bank chums wouldn’t have 
the laugh on him any longer, so I left poor 
Mamie in doubt as to her attractions, tollin’ 
her to be reserved, cetera, and your friend 
the spider then went into the highways and 
by-ways to look for the fly. 

I met the lord’s nephew on the way to 
the theatre. ‘ Hello, Dawn, my boy,’ I says. 
^ Got your ticket? ’ I says. 

‘ Not yet,’ he says. 

‘ Wal,’ I says, ^ I have been sizin’ up the 
situation about introducin’ you to that Cape 
Breton beauty, and I think if you happen 
along with me in about half an hour’s time, 
you can manage to meet her,’ I says, makin’ 
it appear as difficult as I could. 

Dawn bit with variations. ‘ Bah Jove, 
Captain,’ he says, ‘I shall be delighted to 
happen around with you, I’m sure.’ 


Mamie and Dawn 


217 


Inside of half an hour, we were enterin’ 
my boardin’-house. 

“ ^ May I come in, ladies? ’ I says to Mamie 
and her mother, who, with the Widow Cap- 
tain John, were sittin’ in the parlour at the 
time. 

i Why, certainly,’ they says, lookin’ sur- 
prised to see me bringin’ anyone around, 
although they know’d all about it, and had a 
hand in plannin’ the campaign for Dawn’s 
heart. It’s those cussed women! But that 
is make no difference. 

“ ^ Allow me to present my young friend 
Mr. George Dawn, of the Federal Bank 
staff,’ I says, usin’ the slang Mamie taught 
me, as I passed around the lord’s nephew, 
who was most cordially received. 

I monopolized the conversation of the 
widows, and gave Mamie and Dawn a chance 
to get acquainted. I kept an eye on the 
pair, howuver, and I could see that Mamie 
was more than makin’ an impression. At 
last Dawn asked her to sing, and she 
didn’t need any coaxin’, I tell you. She 
sang one song which drew copious drops 
of liquid from Dawn’s blue eyes, so that 
a blind kitten could see that she had the 
poor fellow’s heart in the palm of her 
hand,” 


218 The Woman Hater 

Wasn’t he soft?” The Thunderer’s irre- 
pressible interjected. 

^^Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, ^^he wasn’t 
a bit soft. He was emotional, that was all. 
But the song Mamie sang was enough to 
draw blood. It was supposed to be addressed 
to a girl by the chum of her dead lover who 
committed suicide because she was faithless, 
and it caught Dawn right in the throat. It 
would have been cruel only Mamie brought 
out the heartlessness of the faithless girl 
with such fine touches that Dawn laid his 
heart at Mamie’s number-six boots. 

I began to see that it wouldn’t be a bad 
idea to get the lord’s nephew home, for I 
was afraid Mamie might make a break, so 
I asked the ladies to excuse me because I 
was goin’ to the corner drug-store before it 
was closed. 

Dawn came with me. ^ Isn’t she superb, 
Captain?’ he says, as soon as we got out. 

^ Don’t begin talkin’ about those mis- 
fortunate daughters of Eve this time of 
night, my boy,’ I says. ^ Wait till to-morrow,’ 
I says; and he laughed, bade me good-night, 
and took a car back home to his boardin’- 
house. 

“I wasn’t long away; I only went out 
after a chew of gum, and when I came back 


Mamie and Dawn 


219 


Mamie was waitin’ to see me, her eyes fairly 
poppin’ out of her head with excitement. 

“ ^ Oh, Captain, Captain, Captain ! ’ she 
says. ^ Isn’t he just lovely? ’ she says. ^ Such 
eyes, such princely bearin’, and such a dis- 
tinguished manner! It isn’t hard to tell that 
he’s of noble birth,’ she says. 

^ Ah, Mamie,’ I says, ^ that’s all very fine, 
but if you beared that Dawn loved another 
girl, you’d feel like scratchin’ the eyes out 
of him and of murderin’ the other girl,’ I 
says. 

^ I love him, I love him,’ she purred. 

' What? ’ I says. 

^ I can’t help it. Captain,’ she says, ^ but 
I love George Dawn.’ 

Wouldn’t that jar you, my very dear 
Bones?” 

“ It would,” growled the newspaper hound. 

“ Wal,” drawled the smuggler, “ I came to 
the conclusion that I had to give Mamie a 
settin’ on, so I told her that if she wanted to 
spoil all her chances of uver gettin’ Dawn, 
all she had to do was to keep talkin’ nonsense 
like that. 

^ Wait until you know him,’ I says. 

“ ^ All right. Captain,’ she says, ' but won’t 
you bring him around soon again? ’ she says. 

I didn’t say nothing. I changed the sub- 


220 


The Woman Hater 


ject by remarkin’ that as the next day was 
her birthday, I intended givin’ her a birthday 
present, so when I went down town I bought 
a purty darn nice locket and chain for her. 
And would you believe me? In less than a 
week she had a picture of George Dawn’s 
in that locket. She swiped a snap-shot of 
half a dozen bank fellows, and cut George 
Dawn’s face out.” 

Clever girl that! ” declared The New York 
Thunderer. But how about Dawn?” 

Wal — the lord’s nephew called around to 
my office the next day and talked Mamie 
until my head ached. ‘ Look a’ here. Dawn,’ 
I says, ^ have you forgotten all about that 
New York saw-bones?’ I says. ‘Remember 
that those daughters of Eve are mighty 
fickle,’ I says, ‘ up to the point when you’ve 
got an engagement ring on their finger, and 
even then you’re not too sure,’ I says. 

“You should have see’d the poor fellow; 
he was mad enough to walk all the ways 
down to New York with a shot-gun on his 
shoulder to hunt out that imaginary doctor 
and fill him full of buck-shot. 

“ After a couple of weeks, I notified Mamie 
that I was goin’ to bring the lord’s nephew 
around again, so she more than spruced up. 
Her mother began to take a hand in the 


Mamie and Dawn 


221 


campaign, too, by makin’ swell treats for 
Dawn^s stomach which, she know’d well 
enough, was not very far away from Dawn's 
heart, so things began to get mighty inter- 
estin’, I tell you. 

But I nuver got so scared in my life as 
when Mamie showed her locket to the bloom- 
in’ Englishman, and he began openin’ it with 
a view of gettin’ just one peep at his arch 
enemy from New York. Mamie’s heart was 
in her mouth, or, at least, in her throat, and 
as soon as Dawn had the locket about 
opened, Mamie screamed, grabbed the locket, 
and assumed the most horrified look im- 
aginable. Dawn apologized, said he didn’t 
know there was anything in it, and Mamie, 
fool that she was, let Dawn have another 
look at my birthday present, after he had 
given his word of honour that he wouldn’t 
open it. 

Dawn’s word of honour! If he opened 
that locket and found his own picture in it, 
what would he think? He’d have a mighty 
poor opinion of my veracity for one thing. 
I was simply in a duvil of a perdicament. 
Talk about skatin’ on thin ice; I was actually 
startin’ in to drown after goin’ through the 
ice. 

^ Let me see that locket for a minute,’ 


222 


The Woman Hater 


T says, and Dawn passed it along to me. I 
know^d what was in it, and I took mighty 
good care that neither Mamie nor Dawn got 
a hold of it any more that night. 

Next evening Dawn called at my office to 
ask my advice about proposin’ without de- 
lay. ^ Don’t you do it,’ I says, lookin’ wise. 

“ ‘ Why? ’ he says. 

^ Don’t you do it,’ I 'Says, lookin’ more 
than wise. 

< Why, Captain? ’ he says. 

^ Don’t you forget your wealthy rival 
from New York, and the fascination money 
has for women,’ I says. 

“ ^ If that’s all,’ he says, ^ I’ll propose to- 
night,’ he says, with his jaws set like an 
old bull-dog. 

^^I must have got as pale as a ghost, for 
he talked as if he know’d something. But 
he thought I got mad. The crisis came. I 
pulled his own bottle of potassium cyanide 
from my pocket. ^ Do you see the skull and 
cross-bones?’ I says, right out from the 
shoulder. 

‘^^Yes,’ he says, tears cornin’ into his 
eyes. 

^ Wal — my boy,’ I says, ^ you have got to 
get over your thirst for poison and several 
other things before you are goin’ to propose 


Mamie and Dawn 


223 


to Mamie who is a mighty good little girl/ 
I says. ‘Quit smokinV I says, and he 
smashed his beautiful meerschaum pipe 
against my desk. ‘Quit drinkin’ beer,’ I 
says, and he took a resolution nuver to taste 
anything stronger than ginger ale. ‘Quit 
swearinV I says, and he promised that he’d 
use nothing stronger than By Golly if it’d 
help to win Mamie, so I decided that I’d 
give him about three weeks to reform before 
bringin’ him around again. 

“Wal — Dawn’s reformation was almost 
Mamie’s undoing. She couldn’t imagine 
what was the matter with Mr. Dawn. ‘ Why 
don’t you bring him around any more. Cap- 
tain?’ she says. ‘Why isn’t he cornin’ to 
see me? ’ she says. 

“ It was beginnin’ to look as if I had two 
white elephants on my hands, for, to tell you 
the truth, I arrived at that stage of the game 
when I simply didn’t know what to do. I 
made a bad break, too, at the table one day. 
I told Mamie that Lord Bismuth, Dawn’s 
uncle, was very ill. ‘ Not likely to recover,’ 
I says, ‘ and if he dies, George will succeed 
to the title, to the vast estates, and to the 
pew in the house of lords,’ I says. 

“That simply set Mamie wild, and after 
dinner, she summoned me to the parlour for 


224 


The Woman Hater 


an interview. ^ You must bring Mr. Dawn 
to see me/ she says. 

‘ Must I? ’ I says. ^ But what if he won’t 
come?’ I says. 

^ Wal,’ she says, ^ if he won’t come, I 
shall go down to the bank to see him,’ she 
says, bu’stin’ out cryin’. 

‘ You will? ’ I says. 

“ ‘Yes, I will/ she says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ I says, ‘ if you dare to do such 
a foolish thing. I’ll tell Dawn all about your 
gettin’ me into the row with the public over 
those cussed lessons in deportment,’ I says, 
‘ by squealin’ about them to Tontine Donald,’ 
I says, ‘ and then the whole game will be up,’ 
I says. 

“ That took Mamie’s breath. ‘ Oh, Cap- 
tain, you will break my heart! ’ she says. 

“ ‘ Wal,’ I says, ‘ if you will just possess 
your little soul in patience,’ I says, ‘ I am 
quite willin’ to help you out,’ I says. 
‘ But ’ ” 

“ Oh, look at the rabbit! ” Bones inter- 
rupted. 

“ Don’t let the cussed creature cross the 
road, old chap,” said the sea-dog, “ for they 
are sayin’ it is bad luck. That reminds me,” 
he went on to illustrate, “ of the morning I 
was drivin’ in to Fort Crane to ketch the 


Mamie and Dawn 


225 


boat. I left early, but one of those cussed 
creatures crossed the road. My horse got 
frightened, shied and broke one of the shafts 
of the wagon, and I missed the boat. But 
what was I talkin’ about before that rabbit 
came along? ” 

“ About your friend Mamie,” Bones an- 
swered. 

“ I told her I was quite willing to help her 
out,” the sea-dog snapped, a trifle irritated 
that Mr. Bones should have referred to 
Mamie as his friend, and I did help her out, 
the cussed little squealer of a squealin’ sex.” 

“O you woman hater!” Bones chuckled. 

Would you blame me? ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE SALMON CRANK. 

Captain Roderick and Mr. Bones were 
quite hungry after their long walk; as a 
matter of fact, immediately after their re- 
turn, the smuggler sent for his housekeeper 
and told her to have an early dinner. 

In a few minutes. Little Peggie called them 
into the dining-room where she served a 
delicious salmon dinner, but whether or not 
it was the deliciousness of the salmon that 
suggested the topic of conversation, one of 
Captain Roderick’s first questions was 

‘‘Did you uver ketch a salmon. Bones?” 

“ In a net? ” 

“Not on your life,” answered the smug- 
gler, “ but with a hook and line. It’s 
strange, too, how a fellow will get stirred 
up sometimes, and I got stirred up by meet- 
in’ a salmon crank at the Bluenose Hotel, 
Halifax. Yes, a salmon crank. There are 
various kinds of cranks — a temperance crank, 
a baseball crank, a fashion crank, and a 
226 


The Salmon Crank 


227 


grindstone crank, but of all the varieties of 
crank that uver I came across, the salmon 
crank is the hottest. 

^^This peculiar specimen was settin’ on 
the verandah, suckin^ a cigar. I had only 
to look at his mouth to see that he was 
itchin^ to talk about something, and as I 
myself have a highly developed proclivity 
for wantin’ to ease the pressure on my mind 
at times by givin’ some poor duvil the ear- 
ache, I warmed right up to my friend the 
salmon crank, and bade him the time of the 
day. 

^ I was just thinkinV he says, right off 
the bat, ^ what a grand day this would be for 
fishin’ salmon — ^now that the season has 
opened,’ he says. ^ Did you uver fish 
salmon? ’ he says. ‘No? ’he says. ‘Wal,’he 
says, ‘ up Metapedia way,’ he says, ‘ where I 
belong, you’d be counted a purty darn quare 
fellow, reachin’ your age without havin’ 
fished a salmon — the bulliest sport uver a 
man went at,’ he says. 

“ He poured salmon story after salmon 
story into my head until I could hear nothing 
but reels clickin’ and see nothing but salmon 
leapin’ hither and thither in the rivers he 
described. His name was Bubble, and all 
his enthusiasm bubbled out at one point — 


228 


The Woman Hater 


and that point was a highly developed pro- 
cdivity for whippin^ salmon pools with good 
fishing-tackle. 

Bubble’s enthusiasm was as contagious 
as small-pox, and it didn’t take me long to 
develop a bad case of salmon mania; fact, 
the first thing I know’d, I was on the way 
down to old Fish-Hook’s after fishin’-tackle. 
Bubble went with me, and I was glad he 
did, for if he didn’t, old Fish-Hook would 
have landed about the biggest sucker that 
uver entered his shop. But I simply let my 
salmon-cranky friend do the buyin’ with the 
result that I escaped with a salmon rod and 
reel, a box of files, a gaff, a couple of hundred 
feet of line, cetera, but I didn’t escape old 
Fish-Hook’s story about the Englishman 
that caught the big salmon on the St. John 
Kiver.” 

^‘What about him?” asked the Ameri- 
can. 

Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, I’m afraid 
you’re ketchin’ the salmon fever yourself. 
But that is make no difference. You should 
have see’d old Fish-Hook warm up to his 
job when he was tellin’ about Chesterfield 
Burdett Cogg’s experience on the St. John. 
It appears Mr. Cogg had two very highly 
developed proclivities: a most profound con- 


The Salmon Crank 


229 


tempt for the blawsted, bloody, bloomin^ 
colownial; and a most profound admiration 
for his particular brand of Cogg. 

His salmon gear was the best that money 
could buy, and his clothes were made accord- 
in’ to the sportiest ideas of sartorial archi- 
tecture. He was itchin’ to wet a salmon fly, 
it appears, and he was directed to Stillwater 
on the St. John. 

“The proprietress of the hotel at Still- 
water was a widow, who took the weight of 
Cogg at a glance, and passed him over to 
two Indian guides who were about as slick 
a pair of cusses as uver drawed the breath 
of life; fact, if you can believe old Fish-Hook, 
they were brimmin’ over with tired feelin’, 
their throats were as dry as match-paper, 
and their mouths were eternally ready to 
open and eternally ready to close over the 
end of a bottle. 

“ It took some time, howuver, to convince 
Cogg that the Indians weren’t goin’ to scalp 
him, and when he Anally consented to go 
into their canoe, one morning about six 
o’clock, he took the precaution of slippin’ a 
loaded revolver into his back pocket. 

“ Old Fish-Hook said that after whippin’ 
the river for about an hour, he succeeded in 
hookin’ a salmon, and he got such a surprise 


230 


The Woman Hater 


that he tumbled out of the canoe into the 
water, completely saturatin’ his sporty 
clothes. 

“ ‘ Bah, Jove, Indians,’ he says, ^ I thought 
it was a whale, don’t-cher-know.’ 

“ One Indian grabbed the rod, and the 
other Indian fished Cogg out of the water, 
and all went merry as a church bell tollin’ 
the marriage of an old maid when Cogg got 
back into the canoe. It took him six hours 
to land that salmon — so old Fish-Hook told 
me — but he said the Indians were stringin’ 
the Englishman. 

‘ The salmon was a monster,’ accord- 
in’ to Fish-Hook. ‘ It weighed sixty-seven 
pounds,’ he says, ‘ and was the biggest 
salmon uver caught with a hook on the St. 
John Kiver.’ But on the way back to the 
Bluenose, old Bubble swore by all that was 
good and holy that he beared old Fish-Hook 
tollin’ that yarn about fifteen times, the 
salmon havin’ gone up nineteen pounds in 
weight in the meantime. 

^ Salt and pickle, I suppose? ’ I says. 

^ I suppose so,’ he says. 

Both Bubble and Fish-Hook seemed to 
be kind of sore on the Englishman, although 
I think he behaved purty darn clever with 
the people of Stillwater. He had the salmon 


The Salmon Crank 


231 


cooked, then invited uverybody, within three 
miles, to supper. 

“ More than that, he sent down the Kiver 
for a couple of barrels of booze, and old 
Fish-Hook is my authority for sayin’ that 
there were no dry throats in Stillwater that 
night — at least while Cogg^s liquid glory 
lasted; fact, tradition has it that after mak- 
ing the whole neighbourhood happy, Cogg 
himself got most gloriously happy.” 

Pretty decent chap, after all,” the news- 
paper man declared. But how about the 
first salmon you caught?” 

“ Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, as I said 
before, I developed a bad case of salmon 
mania, for I had a salmon pulse, a salmon 
temperature, and a salmon appetite, so the 
first thing I know’d I was on my way to 
Cape Breton. I left my yacht at Margaree 
Harbour, and drivin’ to Margaree Forks, 
about five miles inland, I put up at that 
famous summer-hotel kept by a farmer- 
prince ownin’ a couple of thousand acres of 
land. 

^^It’s no use, Mr. Bones; that hotel ain’t 
fit. They use you so well there that you 
feel badly used at uvery other hotel in the 
country. Kind? Kind is no name for them. 
Thev simply spoil a fellow with kindness. 


232 


The Woman Haler 


One sassy fellow who was there had this 
to say of the proprietor: 

^ If you are morose and dyspeptic, he’ll 
cure you; if you don’t eat plenty, he will kill 
you.’ 

I want to say right here that while I was 
there, I was no candidate for the shot-gun; 
fact, I was ashamed of all I eat. 

“ The rivers were low when I got to The 
Forks, and they told me I might as well start 
in whippin’ the dust on the road for salmon 
as to begin poundin’ the pools with fishin’- 
tackle. But that didn’t jar me the least. I 
succeeded in securin’ Jo for a guide — a man 
that knows more about salmon fishin’ 
than any other man in the country — one 
of the most lovable fellows in the whole 
world. 

We both started out at four o’clock, the 
very next morning after my arrival, and the 
first thing I know’d I was up to my middle 
in the water, poundin’ the Poodley-Poodley- 
Poo Pool, expectin’ uvery minute to have one 
of those big beggars of salmon come up and 
swallow the end of my fishin’-tackle. It was 
excitin’, I tell you. I had a new sensation 
uvery minute. But I pounded the Poodley- 
Poodley-Poo in vain. 

‘^I then tried Log Pool, Forks Pool, Hut 


The Salmon Crank 


233 


Pool, Noon Pool, French Pool, and Bridge 
Pool, but without bein’ able to raise a 
salmon. I succeeded in raisin’ something 
else, howuver, and that was an enor- 
mous appetite. Why, when I got back to 
the hotel about eight o’clock, after a second 
breakfast, I was hungry enough to eat fish- 
hooks. 

I was thoroughly soaked with water, too : 
my trousers were wet, my boots were full 
of water and gravel, and I felt as mean as 
uver I felt in my life. I felt licked. That’s 
the plain English of it, and I was so darn 
disgusted with myself, I thought that would 
be the last time Pd uver go fishin’ again. 
But when I got dry clothes on, and a second 
breakfast aboard, I had the salmon mania 
worse than uver. I was simply bound to 
hook a salmon or bu’st. 

After breakfast, we drove down to Seal 
Pool, and I pounded it for over an hour with- 
out even gettin’ a swirl from a salmon; fact, 
they didn’t condescend to switch their tails 
at me. But I kept on poundin’. I whipped 
Tidal Pool, I whipped Davison Pool, I 
whipped Hole Pool and Breakwater Pool and 
Wire Pool and Brook Pool until I came to 
The Rips — and then something happened. 
I dropped something; fact, I dropped Cap- 


234 


The Woman Hater 


tain Koderick himself into the swift-flowin^ 
Rips. 

Talk about duckin’ a hen for the purpose 
of curin’ her of an abnormal cravin’ to set, 
of gettin’ the cluck out of her, but I beat 
that all hollow. I was beginnin’ to think 
that I could handle a salmon rod about as 
slick as any tenderfoot, and I developed that 
pride which, they are sayin’, goeth before 
you fall. But I didn’t fall. I simply dropped 
into The Rips as I was completin’ a rather 
fancy stunt in makin’ a long cast. 

<< My guide was settin’ at the side of the 
bank, a couple of hundred feet down stream, 
and the first thing he know’d a pair of boots, 
a fishin’-rod and a sou’wester, were passin.’ 
him. He made a shot at one of the boots 
with his gaff, and soon succeeded in landin’ 
a mighty big sucker. 

“ You would have thought, too, that the 
sucker would be cured of his salmon mania 
by this time, and perhaps he was for the 
time bein’ ; fact, a drop of that nature should 
be sufficient to cure anything. But like the 
penitent hen with the proclivity for settin’, I 
was cured while I was in the water, I was 
cured when I looked at myself after I got 
out of the water; but when I got back to the 
hotel and got some dinner into me, my 


The Salmon Crank 


235 


salmon temperature went up two or three 
degrees, and I had a relapse with the result 
that my salmon mania was worse than uver. 

I could curse old Bubble in half a dozen 
different dialects when I tumbled into The 
Rips, but when I got the cravin’ in my 
stomach satisfied with a chunk of delicious 
fresh lamb at the dinner table, there was 
nuver a sixteen-year-old girl had love-sick- 
ness worse than I had salmon-sickness. I 
simply got stubborn; I was bound to hook a 
salmon whatuver. 

“Wal — after dinner that day, I went to 
bed and had a darn good sleep. I loafed 
around from three o’clock until five, when I 
had a hearty supper, and at six I was on my 
way back to the Poodley-Poodley-Poo Pool, 
attired in my salmon raiment which was still 
wet from the soakin’ I got in the morning. 
I may mention here that the evening was 
dark; it looked like rain, and I didn’t just 
know what kind of a fly to tempt Mr. Salmon 
with, so I left the choice of a fly with my 
guide who selected an ugly nondescript 
article out of my box of flies, and attached 
it to the end of my castin’-line. 

^ Do you want to scare uvery salmon out 
of the Poodley-Poodley-Poo with that fly?’ 
I says. 


236 


The Woman Hater 


“ He just laughed. He know^d what he 
was doin^, for I believe the death-knell of a 
salmon was ringin’ in his ears. ^ Cast with a 
short line in those rapids/ he says, as I 
plunged into the river up to my middle, ^ and 
be careful that you don’t go over too far, 
for the current is swift and there is a deep 
hole ’ 

^^That was the last I beared as I waded 
with the strong current until I got to the 
place indicated. I felt darn uncomfortable; 
fact, I felt mean, for I was drenched to the 
skin in an instant, and as I had only a pair 
of laced boots on, the gravel began to get 
into them, and to work down underneath 
my socks. 

Wal — Jo sat on the bank, and I made my 
first cast with a short line, then when the 
current made the line taut, I stood wigglin’ 
the rod until the current carried the hook 
around the edge of the pool. I then drew my 
line back and made a second cast, after pay- 
in’ out an extra yard or so. There was no 
result. 

I made a third cast with a longer line, 
then I made a fourth cast, and lo and be- 
hold! Up came Mr. Salmon and swallowed 
my fly. 

I’ll nuver forget the sensation as long as 


The Salmon Crank 


237 


I live. I soon forgot the gravel in my shoes. 
I was king of the earth in an instant, for 
that salmon made down stream like as if it 
was shot out of a gun. 

Give him about fifty yards of free line,’ 
says the guide. ^ He’ll only go to the other 
end of the pool,’ he says. 

^ All right,’ I says. 

But when Mr. Salmon got to the other 
end of the Poodley-Poodley-Poo, he took a 
notion to go a little farther, so the chase 
began. I had only a hundred yards of line 
on the reel at the time, so when Mr. Salmon 
would get the hundred yards paid out, he 
would simply snap my line like a bit of 
thread. He had fifty yards out then, and 
one would have thought that one hundred 
and fifty feet would satisfy him, but he 
simply wanted the whole earth. All he got, 
howuver, was ten yards more. He then 
stopped, and, to save my soul, I couldn’t get 
a move out of him. 

‘ My line is caught in a stick,’ I says, but 
my guide only laughed. 

“ ^ Keel him up tight,’ he says; ^ then bend 
your rod almost double,’ he says, ^ and tap 
the end of it good and hard,’ he says. 

I tried to do as I was told, but I was 
so darn excited, I suppose I didn’t do the 


2SS 


The Woman Hater 


stunt right, so my guide plunged out into 
the river with me. You should have see’d 
him. He tightened up the line, doubled the 
rod, then tapped it in a way that would stir 
up Old Nick if he were in the bottom of 
the pool. The effect was instantaneous. 
Mr. Salmon shot out of the water about 
five feet, and then made a bee-line up the 
stream. 

‘ Take in the slack,’ he says, handin’ back 
the rod, and I made the reel spin, I tell you, 
when presently the cussed fish shot out of 
the water, about twenty feet away, then 
made down stream again. 

Talk about excitement. I was nuver so 
excited in my life. The perspiration was 
pourin’ off my old and well-know’d face. I 
was drunk with the game — mad, crazy mad, 
with salmon-phobia. 

^ Let me take that hook out of your 
finger,’ says my guide. 

^ What hook? ’ I says. 

^ That salmon hook that’s embedded in 
the soft part of your big finger,’ he says. 

‘ I nuver noticed it,’ I says, ‘ but I can’t 
wait,’ I says. ‘ The salmon got the line 
caught in a stick,’ I says. 

“ ‘ Let the salmon sulk for a minute,’ he 
says. 


The Salmon Crank 


239 


^ All right,’ I says, and he started to take 
the hook out. 

But just as he got hold of the hook, the 
salmon got frisky again and shot into the 
air a third time. ^ Hurry up,’ I says, ^ and if 
you can’t get the hook out, cut the bloody 
finger off,’ I says, ‘ for I’d rather lose that 
finger than lose that salmon,’ I says. 

“ Wasn’t I crazy? Wasn’t I mad with the 
game? Wasn’t my relapse from the cure of 
the morning a bad one? But, holy Jerusalem, 
it was a relapse that was glorious!” 

“ Go on with your story. Captain,” The 
Thunderer demanded. 

“Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, while Jo 
was gettin’ the hook out, Mr. Salmon was 
doin’ all kinds of stunts at the other end of 
the Poodley-Poodley-Poo; fact, owin’ to our 
neglect, he got a brief breathin’ spell, and 
was just as frisky and just as full of fight as 
when I hooked him first. But he sulked so 
bad at times that Jo had to throw stones at 
him. 

Shootin’ up the pool and down the pool 
and across the pool for over two hours, how- 
uver, left him completely exhausted. He 
came to the surface, turned over on his side, 
and let me reel him up. 

‘ Be careful that he doesn’t snap the 


240 


The Woman Hater 


line/ says the guide, and you bet your life 
I was as careful as if I was landin^ a whale. 
‘ Now I got him,’ he says, gaffin’ Mr. Salmon 
by the middle and tossin’ him ashore. We 
then caught him by the gills, and killed him 
with a stone. 

Talk about your kid with a new top, or 
your love-sick girl with a diamond engage- 
ment-ring; they were nothing to salmon- 
crazy Captain Roderick with his first salmon. 
The first thing I did when I got out of the 
water was to yell, and I want to tell you that 
I nuver put as much joy into one yell in my 
life as I did on that memorable occasion. 
The hills echoed that yell, the cows echoed it; 
nay, more, the very dogs echoed it, for uvery 
dog with a barkin’ throat on both sides of the 
river set up a howl of joy. 

My boots were full of gravel, but I didn’t 
mind that. My knee ached with rheuma- 
tism, but I didn’t mind that. I lost my hat 
and my pipe and my cigar case, but I didn’t 
mind that. I almost lost my finger, but 1 
didn’t mind that. All these little things 
were swallowed up in the joy of carry in’ 
home a twenty-seven pound salmon — a joy 
that spilled all over me, makin’ me feel 
kindly even towards my most vicious 
enemies.^’ 


The Salmon Crank 


. 241 


There are spots in a fellow’s life like that, 
my dear Bill Bones; a spot here and there, 
when a man’s very pains and aches are 
turned into boundless joy. But I suppose it 
wouldn’t do to have a fellow’s life all spots 
of that kind, for all spots would be no spots 
at all. It would get mighty monotonous. 

“ A fellow appreciates his friends better 
after he has a few tilts with his enemies. 
Gleams of sunshine are better appreciated 
after hours of darkness; the blessings of 
sight, after a dose of blindness. Such is 
life. 

“ I felt mighty proud, howuver, cornin’ up 
to the verandah of the hotel on which were 
perched a dozen salmon-cranky people who 
had been poundin’ the pools for a couple of 
weeks without as much as gettin’ a sassy 
swirl from a salmon.” 

“ ‘ Congratulations, Captain,’ they all 
shouted at onct, cornin’ to meet me, for 
you’ll find those afflicted with the salmon 
mania mighty generous people. 

Where did you get it?’ says one of 
them. 

“ ‘ In the Poodley-Poodley-Poo Pool,’ I 
says. 

Isn’t it a beauty?’ says another, ex- 
aminin’ the corpse. 


242 


The Woman Hater 


beat ns all hallow/ says another. 
^ I am as prond of your success as if it were 
my own/ he says. 

These were some of the kind things they 
said to me. 

‘ Wal/ I says, ‘ weTl have a big feed out 
of this corpse to-morrow/ I says, and I got 
the genial proprietor to have the dinner of 
the season prepared at my expense. 

But I was mighty tired, I tell you, and I 
went right up to my room. I put off my wet 
clothes, and my boots, which held a pint of 
gravel between them; then, takin^ a cup of 
hot cocoa my good old host sent up to my 
room, I got into bed. Wal — Bones, old 
boy, if your salmon-cranky friend felt joy- 
ful on his way home with his first salmon, 
he felt glorious now. It wasn’t so much the 
taste of the cussed stuff, as Jo For Short 
would put it, as the glory, the glory, the 
glory! 

“ The river sang softly in the pale light of 
a half-grown moon as I slowly passed into a 
most refreshin’ sleep, which was not broken 
by dreams of hardship and sufferin’ and of 
tumblin’ into The Kips, but which was 
soothed by visions of a noble river, of a 
kindly guide, and of pools that sent up sal- 
mon to have a crack at your fishin’-tackle.” 


The Salmon Crank 


243 


I never hooked a salmon in my life,” the 
convalescent sighed. It must be glorious 
sport.” 

‘^Glorious sport!” repeated the sea-dog. 

It’s next thing to paradin’ the streets of 
paradise.” 


CHAPTEE XIV. 


“THE OLD CALL OF THE SEA.” 

After dinner, Captain Roderick took Mr. 
Bones out to see the old schooner. 

Is this the Rob Roy?’^ asked Bones. 

“ The one and only,’’ answered the smug- 
gler. 

She looks pretty well, I tell you, for an 
old schooner.” 

Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, “ I had her 
all cleaned up, scraped, calked — fact, I had 
her thoroughly repaired and painted all over 
last summer. You know I got lonesome pok- 
in’ around in a steam yacht. I wanted to 
get back to the old life again — to the happy 
life, when I was king of outlaws, and as free 
from care as an ocean wave or a sea-gull. 
Hurricane Bob was responsible. I met him 
in Halifax. 

“ ‘ Hello, Hurricane,’ I says to a fellow I 
see’d pokin’ along Lower Water Street, one 
evening about the middle of June. 

‘ Hello,’ he says. 

2U 


''The Old Call of the Sea^' 245 


" ' Don^t you know me? ’ I says. 

"'Wal/ he says, 'if you weren’t such a 
swell, I’d say you were Captain Roderick,’ 
he says. 

" ' Surely I haven’t changed that much. 
Bob,’ I says. 

" ' I don’t know,’ he says, ' but somehow 
or another I’d hardly believe you were the 
same sea-dog I used to know in the good old 
days that are gone,’ he says. 

" That set me thinkin’. ' Have I changed 
with prosperity?’ I says. 'I thought I was 
the same old dog. Bob,’ I says; 'with the 
same old bark, the same old growl, and the 
same old whine,’ I says. ' But you seem to 
think I have changed my breed — that I’m 
after turnin’ poodle — and it makes me feel 
real bad,’ I says. 

" ' I now see that prosperity hasn’t 
changed you any. Captain,’ he says, ' for right 
down in that decent old heart of yours, 
you’re the same sea-duvil I used to know — 
as changeless,’ he says, ' as the very rocks 
that jut out into the sea. You may cover 
your carcass with broadcloth raiment, you 
may hide your number-ten feet underneath 
patent-leather shoes, you may cover the 
bald spot on the top of your pate with a 
silk hat, you may shove those paws of yours 


246 


The Woman Hater 


into tight-fittin’ gloves, but that rugged old 
face would show the old dog still; and even 
if you^d cover it up with a mask or a veil,’ 
he says, ^ as soon as you’d open your mouth 
to talk, your bark would reveal dear old 
Fido,’ he says, ^with as little of the poodle 
about him as the snout of a schooner,’ he 
says. ^Change you. Captain Roderick?’ he 
says. ^ It would take nothing short of a 
miracle. You’re single yet? ’ he says. 

‘ You bet your life,’ I says; ^ I’m as single 
as the mateless tempest,’ I says. 

“‘The same old woman hater?’ he says. 
‘ On general principles, yes,’ I says. ‘ I still 
carry my old and well-know’d proclivity for 
hatin’ the cussed sex around with me,’ I says. 

“ ‘ Then,’ he says, ‘ you’re the same old 
dog,’ he says. ‘ Your growl rings true,’ he 
says. ‘Put it there,’ he says, grabbin’ my 
hand and shakin’ it as only a whole man can. 
It was none of your new-fangled hand-shak- 
in’, either, but the old pump-handle variety 
that whistles Home Sweet Home, 

“Wal — Bill, old pal, I felt like tearin’ 
off my fantastic raiment and gettin’ into an 
old suit of clothes, for onct again I was 
the same old sea-dog that defied wind and 
waves and revenue-officers. It was the old 
call of the sea that was ringin’ in my ears — > 


^‘The Old Call of the Sea” 


247 


the call of the black squall coinin’ over the ‘ 
waves, the call of white sails flappin’ loudly 
in the mad wind, the call of a long- 
snouted schooner, and not the call of a 
creature throbbin’ with engine, all a-trem- 
blin’ from snout to stern. Talk about an 
old war-horse sniffin’ the old life in a powder- 
can. It was nothing to sniffin’ Hurricane 
Bob. 

^ Where’s the old Rob Roijf ’ he says. 

‘ Beached,’ I blushed to tell him, ‘ beached 
at Big Frog Pond.’ 

^ Beached? ’ he says. 

“ ‘ Beached,’ I says, like a criminal plead- 
in’ guilty from the dock. 

^ And you pokin’ around in a steam 
yacht ? ’ he says. 

^ Yes,’ I says, feelin’ as guilty as if I was 
on my way to the penitentiary. 

“‘Is the schooner beyond repairin’?’ he 
says. 

“ ‘No,’ I says. ‘ Let’s get her rigged out 
again,’ I says. ‘ Will you go with me. Bob? ’ 

I says. 

“‘Go with you?’ he says. ‘Why, I’d go 
with you to the brink — of the place you write 
with a dash — in the Rob Roy/ he says, al- 
though a little more forcibly than my trans- 
lation of it. 


248 


The Woman Hater 


“That was enough. I had an old suit of 
gray homespun at home, I know’d where 
Foxy Donald was livin’, so I decided to get 
the old schooner afloat onct more, and for 
that purpose I made a bee-line for Big Frog 
Pond, bringin’ Hurricane Bob with me. We 
lost no time gettin’ to work on the Roh Roy, 
which cost me over two thousand dollars to 
put in flrst-class repair. 

“ Now, I want to say right here that when 
she came off the slip she was just as good as 
the day she was first launched; fact, she 
was a bird, and after layin’ in a stock of 
old-time provisions — herring, salt pork, salt 
codfish, potatoes, hard-tack, beans, butter, 
condensed milk, cetera — we set sail.” 

“ Where were you bound for? ” asked the 
American. 

“ St. Pierre, of course,” answered the sea- 
dog. “ Ah, but it was a glorious trip! The 
wind howled, the gulls howled; why, the 
very waves howled their joy at seein’ me 
back where I belonged. 

“ But talk about joy — you should have 
see’d M. Rioux Tranche-Montagne, which, 
bein’ interpreted, means something like Mr. 
Laugh-Where Split-the-Mountain, Marchand 
& Company’s foreman. The poor fellow 
was standin’ twice with delight. 


^'The Old Call of the Sea’’ 


249 


^ Captain Koderick,’ he says, ringin’ my 
hand and dis tillin’ juice with his keen little 
brown eyes. ^ Tiens, tienSy but how glad I am 
to see you back. Hooraw for de ol’ man — 
she’s back again,’ he says. ‘ Come and have 
some something — wine, gin, whis-key, noth- 
ing in St. Pierre is too good for my ol’ frien’. 
See? ’ says he. ^ An’ where have you been all 
dis time? An’ what have you been doin’ wit’ 
yourself dat we nuver see you? ’ he says. ^ I 
miss you — I miss you very much,’ he says. 
‘ Come and have some something — whis-key 
was your favorite,’ he says. ^ My sake, my 
sake, my sake!’ 

“Wal — when Mr. Split-the-Mountain got 
me into his office, he nearly drowned me 
with champagne; and while I was strug- 
glin’, without life-preservers, to save both 
of us from a champagne drunk, we talked 
over old times, and came to the conclusion 
that the Scotch and the French were the 
two friendliest nations on the face of the 
earth. 

^ Take us over there in Canada,’ I says. 
< We live in peace and unity and broth- 
erly love with the sons and daughters of 
French extraction,’ I says, ‘ just as the 
French and Scotch used to do in the good 
old days when the Dauphin of France got 


250 The Woman Hater 

struck on misfortunate Mary, Queen of 
Scots/ I says. 

‘ Yes,^ he says, ^ in the glorious — hie — 
days of chivalry and romance,’ he says. 

^ Of course, the Scotch have the habit of 
singin’ sassy Jacobite songs which, if taken 
literally, are more or less disloyal,’ I says, 
^ but what’s the good of a man unless the 
sassy side of him comes to the surface now 
and then.’ 

^ Dat is the reason, I suppose so,’ he says, 
‘ dat de people of Canada nearly bu’s’ deir 
side laughin’ when de French start in singin’ 
de Marseillaise Hymn to slow music,’ he says, 
t for den — hie,’ he says, ‘ de sass is all taken 
out of it.’ 

‘ Yes,’ I says, ^ when the glorious Mar- 
seillaise is sung slow, it’s as flat as porridge 
without salt,’ I says. ‘But it’s literally 
standin’ on its hind legs when it’s sung fast,’ 
I says; ‘it’s darn sassy then,’ I says, ‘for 
you can almost hear the blood tricklin’ out 
of uvery word,’ I says. ‘ But when it’s sung 
slow, it’s as tame as if you asked a fellow 
if he wouldn’t be kind enough to go to the 
bottomless pits instead of directin’ him 
thither, right off the bat,’ I says. 

“ ‘ Dat’s right,’ he says, agreein’ with 
uverything I says, even when I made the 


''The Old Call of the Sea’’ 


251 


statement off hand that ten to one there was 
Scotch blood in half the people there. But 
he got his back up considerably when I told 
him that I was convinced that Napoleon 
Bonaparte was a Scotchman. 

" ' Dat is not a fact,’ he says, contradictin’ 
me flatly, but not wishin’ to get into any con- 
troversy until I had purchased a cargo of 
liquor, I adjourned the debate indefinitely. 

" Mr. Laugh-Someplace Split-the-Hills was 
interestin’ up to the point when he started in 
winkin’ his shoulders, and then he had to be 
dealt with at arm’s length. ' I came here 
after a cargo of booze,’ I says, and he awoke 
to business in a minute. 

“^What you want?’ he says, winkin’ at 
me with his cussed shoulders. 

^ Booze,’ I says. 

“^What kind of booze?’ he says. 'We 
have champagne — de bes’ in de worl’ — six 
dollar a case — twelve bottle to de case. 
How many?’ he says. 

‘ Fifty cases,’ I says. 

“ ^ We have Port wine — de bes’ in de 
market — one dollar twenty-five cent, per 
gallon in hogshead of one hundred gallon 
each. How many?’ he says. 

« < Five hogsheads,’ I says. 

'^'We have Demarara rum — none better 


252 


The Woman Hater 


— forty overproof — in fifty-gallon cask — 
one dollar tTrty-five cent a gallon. How 
many? ^ 

^ Ten casks/ I says. 

^^^All right/ he says. ‘Any whis-key?’ 
he says. 

^ No/ I says. 

^ Havana cigar? Tobacco? No?^ he 
says. ‘ All right/ he says. ^ 1^11 deliver de 
consignment without de-lay, and will send car- 
penter to store one-half below false bottom, 
de odder half behin^ false partition/ he says. 
^ Dat will give yon easy bluff,’ he says. 

^ Nuver mind your old bluff,’ I says, ^ for 
I intend to sail straight into Halifax Har- 
bour with this cargo, and I’ll bet you a hat 
that the Customs officers will pay mighty 
little attention to me.’ 

^ Do not take de risk, my frien’/ he says. 

^ Do not take de risk,’ he says. 

“ But I only laughed in his face. ‘ How 
much do I owe you, M’sieu’ Laughter-and- 
Splits?’ I says. 

‘ Let me see, my Men’,’ he says. ‘ Wait 
to I make it up — champagne, bes’ in de 
worl’; Port, de bes’ in de market; Demarara, 
none better — let me see,’ he says. ‘ Six, and 
six, and free, and one to carry — sixteen hun- 
dred dollar. Is dat right?’ 


''The Old Call of the Sea’' 


253 


" ' Guess so/ I says, and I paid him the 
money. 

" After biddin’ Mr. Laugh-Somewhere 
Split-the-Mountain good-bye, we set sail for 
Halifax, arrivin’ in the historic harbour 
about ten o’clock the followin’ day. I wasn’t 
afraid of revenue-cutters, I wasn’t afraid of 
anybody, so I sailed right up to Dudley’s 
wharf.” 

" Weren’t you afraid of being caught. Cap- 
tain?” 

" No,” answered the smuggler. " I sold 
the whole outfit to the proprietor of the 
Bluenose for two thousand dollars, makin’ 
something over three hundred dollars clear 
profit on the trip. 

" But the man who runs the Bluenose was 
kind of timid. ' I’m scared of gettin’ 
ketched,’ he says. 

"^Scared of what?’ I says. 

" ' I’m scared of gettin’ pinched for this 
booze,’ he says. 

' Wal,’ I says, ' if you go around with a 
hang-dog look on your face, someone will get 
busy and suspect that something’s wrong, 
but if you look pleasant, and keep rattlin’ 
the change in your pants’ pockets to keep 
your courage up while I am havin’ the cussed 
stuff carted up to your eatin’ -house, uvery- 


254 


The Woman Hater 


thing will go all right/ I says. ^You’ll 
simply be surprised how little notice will be 
taken of the whole transaction/ I says. 

But the misfortunate fellow had no 
nerve. He was as scared as an eight-year-old 
school-boy would be tacklin’ an orchard, al- 
though his teeth would be actually runnin’ 
water with longin’ to exercise themselves on 
the luscious fruit. 

I paid mighty little attention to him. I 
had his two thousand dollars in my pocket, 
and I believe he’d rather have seen me throw 
the cargo into the dock than run the risk of 
gettin’ caught, much as he wanted such high- 
grade booze at less than one-third what he 
could get it for anywhere else. I just 
laughed to bu’st my sides at the way his 
knees shook, and had the cussed booze carted 
up to the Bluenose in broad daylight, inside 
of a week after our arrival.” 

Was that the proprietor who refused you 
the drink of liquor on one occasion, because 
you were from Cape Breton?” asked the 
irrepressible. 

Yes,” answered the sea-dog, but I got 
back at him in a manner that was thoroughly 
after my own heart. You see when he got 
the cussed booze safely stored in the Blue- 
nose Hotel,” he went on to explain, and 


^'The Old Call of the Sea'' 255 


while he was congratulatin' himself on the 
two thousand dollars' profit he was goin' to 
make out of the deal, I took Hurricane Bob 
to one side for the purpose of scarin' the old 
and well-know'd proprietor of the Bluenose 
into his boots, and a bigger wag than Hur- 
ricane Bob nuver drawed the breath of 
life. 

^ See here, mister,' says Bob, takin' the 
proprietor into a private room, ‘ where am I 
goin' to fit in about that cargo of booze?' 
he says. 

‘ Fit in? ' says the proprietor. ^ What do 
you mean?' he says. 

^ Wal,' says Bob, ^ I want something out 
of the deal.' 

^ You've got to go to Captain Roderick,' 
says the proprietor. 

‘ I have you just where I want you,' says 
Bob, ‘ and that is bangin' by the eye-lids, 
so cough up,' he says. 

^ Cough up? ' says the proprietor. 

“‘Yes,' says Bob; ‘two thousand dollars 
— one-half the profit, or I'll have the Customs 
officials after you inside of five minutes,' he 
says. 

“ Wal — the proprietor must have gone 
down into his boots about five inches. He 
wanted to send for me, but Bob wouldn't 


256 


The Woman Hater 


consent to the arrangement. He wanted a 
day to raise the money, but Hurricane 
wouldn’t give him five minutes. He wanted 
Bob to take less, but Bob wouldn’t come 
down five cents. 

“ ^ Cough up,’ says Bob, ^ cough up, you 
poor, misfortunate fellow,’ he says, ^ for you 
are absolutely in my powder,’ he says. 

The proprietor simply coughed onct or 
twice with his throat, then went into the 
office and set the safe at work coughin’. He 
then went into the hotel bar to get the cash 
register to clear its throat, and as soon as 
he succeeded in gatherin’ the two thousand 
dollars, he coughed it up to Hurricane Bob 
who made a bee-line for me. 

Didn’t I laugh? I held the money for 
nearly a week while the proprietor kept to 
his room, sulkin’ like a recalcitrant salmon. 
< See here, mister,’ I says to him on his reap- 
pearance, ‘ Hurricane Bob’s quite a nice fel- 
low,’ I says. 

‘‘ ^ He’s a scoundrel,’ he says. 

^ Tut, tut,’ I says. ^ Why, the fellow gave 
me two thousand dollars to give you as a 
present,’ I says, ‘ and I think he’s a mighty 
nice fellow,’ I says, handin’ the sucker the 
money which he was mighty glad to get 
back, ^ Now^ I want to tell you something,’ I 


‘'The Old Call of the Sea” 257 


says. ‘ I was the one who put up the game 
on you. Do you remember the night you re- 
fused me a drink of booze after hours be- 
cause I was from Cape Breton? ^ I says. He 
didn^t say nothing, but he blushed like a 
small boy caught stealin’ a kiss. ‘Way I 
says, ‘ I have been layin’ for you all these 
years, and I think I have succeeded in gettin’ 
square with you at last,^ I says. He didn’t 
open his mouth, but I could tell by the smile 
hoverin’ around his lower jaw that he see’d 
the point. But that was the only satisfac- 
tion I got out of the whole business. Bones, 
my friend. There isn’t even fun in the smug- 
glin’ game for me any more.” 

“ How’s that. Captain? ” 

“ For several reasons. A fellow of my 
financial standing is nuver suspected of law- 
lessness of that kind, and the people couldn’t 
see him at it with a microscope, under or- 
dinary circumstances. Then again, even if 
they ketched me, what difference would it 
make? Why, I could buy the schooner back 
when she’d be put up at auction, in competi- 
tion with the whole country, and I’d feel 
a fine as little as a mosquito-bite. 

“ What signifies a couple of thousand dol- 
lars to a fellow that has hundreds of thou- 
sands of the filthy stuff that he cannot 


258 


The Woman Hater 


spend? That was my position, and these are 
some of the reasons that the game lost all 
its fun for me. Not so in the good old days 
when Fd have uvery dollar that I owned and 
uvery dollar that I could borrow, tied up 
into a smuggling venture. It was then that 
the game was thrillin’; it was then that a 
fellow’s knees shook when there was danger 
around — then, that thrills of pleasure would 
shoot out to a fellow’s finger-tips after he 
had succeeded in landin’ his treasure safely 
— after escapin’ the sea-hounds. Then, it 
meant losin’ all a fellow had; now, the loss 
would be as trifiin’ as the sigh of a sinner 
in a crowded church.” 

Strange world this. Captain ! ” declared 
The 'New York Thunderer, 

You’re right there, old chap. There’s 
more truth than poetry in the sayin’ that a 
fellow only appreciates what he’s got to 
sweat for. What comes easy isn’t worth 
while. It’s only what comes hard. 

Take my own case. I had a longin’ for 
the old life — I was crazy to be an outlaw 
again, and between you and me, my dear 
fellow, I was about as good a specimen as 
was uver raised in these parts. But that 
was in the old days when I was fightin’ down 
the hunger that was continually threatenin’ 


The Old Call of the Sea 259 


to eat me all up if I didn’t succeed with my 
lawlessness. 

It’s different now. I got money enough 
to feed any hungry combination that is made 
against me, and the spice is all taken out 
of the game. I did succeed in deliverin’ the 
sassiest cargo of booze that was uver de- 
livered in old Halifax — a stunt which, if 
performed in the good old hungry days, 
would have made me feel that I was sort of 
an outlaw king, but which now makes me 
feel half ashamed of myself. 

“ I suppose it gave me an opportunity of 
gettin’ rid of a certain amount of the cus- 
sedness that a fellow keeps continually gen- 
eratin’, howuver, for if the cussedness that 
prompted that stunt didn’t find an outlet 
in a trip to St. Pierre, it is hard to say what 
I might have done. 

“ You know it’s purty darn hard to reform 
an old sinner. You’ve got to take him by 
degrees, and no matter how near you get 
his feet adjusted to the stunt of paradin’ 
the straight and narrow pathway, ten to one 
he’ll have his pockets full of forbidden fruit 
and the first thing you’ll know old Adam 
will be croppin’ out, and you will find him 
gorgin’ himself, two apples at a time. 

Of course, in a smuggler’s code of morals, 


260 


The Woman Hater 


there is no such thing as the sin of of smug- 
glin’; in his code of justice, there are a whole 
lot of things worse than gettin’ ahead of 
revenue-officers. But what’s the good of the 
game when the cussed fellows won’t chase 
you any longer? What’s the good of dodgin’ 
fellows that will only raise their hat to you 
when they meet you on the street? Do you 
think the small boy would enjoy raidin’ an 
orchard for sour apples unless there was a 
crabbed owner or an aggressive bull-dog at 
the other end of the venture? ” 

“Why didn’t you tell the revenue-officers 
that you were at the old business again?” 
the newspaper man suggested. “ That would 
put them on to the game, and make them 
chase, too.” 

“ Yes, but that would be pleadin^ guilty 
before you committed the crime,” replied the 
sea-dog. “ There’s no fun in that. You want 
the pleasure of drawin’ the cork out of the 
bottle, and of bearin’ it pop and phiz. 
What’s the good of guzzlin’ beer that has 
been two or three days uncorked? You 
want the bubbles to sizzle up your nose 
while the cussed stuff itself is makin’ its way 
down your throat. 

“ Money drew the cork out of the smug- 
glin’ business, which has lost all its sizzle, 


''The Old Call of the Sea'' 2G1 


so far as this sea-dog's nose is concerned. 
But that's the way: when you can afford a 
thirteen-course feed, you've only got the ap- 
petite of a dyspeptic to tackle it. There is 
nothing like bein' content with one's lot, 
old man, whether it be a corner lot in the 
business section, or a rear lot in a country 
churchyard." 


CHAPTER XV. 


HIGH LIFE. 

^^Were you uver at a tea-fight?” Captain 
Roderick asked his guest after supper that 
evening, drawing his chair up in front of the 
brightly burning grate-fire. 

“A tea-fight?” repeated the reporter. 
^^What kind of a fight is that?” 

“Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, “it isn’t a 
fight in the ordinary sense. It’s more or less 
of a riot — the kind of a riot that fifty or 
sixty recalcitrant cats would make if 
throwed together.” 

“ Were you uver at one. Captain? ” 

“Wasn’t I? And I nuver felt so mean 
in all my life. I didn’t go of my own accord, 
howuver; I was simply dragged there by 
Dannie Donald the Duvil, law student, 
disciple of Satan, and my friend George 
Dawn, lord’s nephew, cetera. 

“ ^ Goin’ down to Mrs. Bartholomew Tuft- 
Hunter’s tea-fight? ’ says Dannie, with a 
suspicious-lookin’ twinkle in his eyes. 

262 


High Life 


263 


^ Don’t know/ I says. ^ Did I get an 
invitation?’ I says. 

^ Of course, you did,’ he says. 

“^Wal/ I says, ‘I don’t think I’ll go, 
Dannie,’ I says. ^ I ain’t got no darn use for 
those sanguinary functions,’ I says. Wal — 
he got Dawn after me, and between him and 
Dawn, the first thing I know’d I was on my 
way to the tea-fight.” 

Did the police know it was cornin’ off? ” 
asked the irrepressible. 

^^Wal — no,” answered the smuggler. 

They should have know’d, but when they 
saw the military goin’, I suppose their 
vigilance gradually subsided like the froth 
on the top of a glass of porter. But I wish 
two or three of them did show up, for then I 
could have called on one of them to escort 
me from the battlefield when I found things 
gettin’ too hot. 

What’s the nature of the festivities?’ 
I says to Dannie. 

“ ^ I really don’t know, Captain,’ says the 
young rascal. ‘ I nuver attended a tea-fight 
before,’ he says. 

I then turned to Mr. Bah Jove Dawn, 
but he didn’t know the exact nature of the 
function, either, or he pretended not to know, 
which was about the same thing. 


264 


The Woman Hater 


^^^W^al/ I says, thafs all you fellows 
know about the trap you^s are tryin^ to lead 
me into,^ I says, ^ I refuse to be ketched — 
that’s all,’ I says. 

^ You’ll miss a whole lot of fun if you 
don’t go,’ says Dawn. ^ It’ll be a new ex- 
perience anyhow,’ he says. 

Dannie chimed in, and not feelin’ like 
turnin’ quitter, I ground my teeth, closed my 
fists, and arrived at the conclusion that I 
could put up as good a scrap as either Dannie 
or Dawn, if it came to the worst. But didn’t 
I feel mean goin’? I was far from bein’ 
happy, I tell you. 

^‘Wal — after considerable skirmishin’, we 
arrived at the scene of battle — at the 
Bartholomew Tuft-Hunter residence on 
Paradise Kow; and I want to say right here 
that I was feelin’ mighty miserable. I’d have 
gladly given a thousand dollars to get out 
of the scrape the boys got me into only I 
was too stubborn to give in. 

“ I almost collapsed as I went up the steps, 
followin’ those two duvils like a sick dog. 
I was like a sucker tryin’ to swim in a 
bucket of booze — the atmosphere was a trifie 
too strong for me. But I managed to 
stagger along until I found myself inside the 
house. Then a feelin’ of nausea came over 


High Life 


265 


me, and the blood started in leavin’ my face. 

I didn’t cry with my eyes, but if there is 
such a thing as a fellow weepin’ with his 
forehead, I must have performed that stunt, 
for my forehead was distillin’ cold liquid of 
the same composition as tears. Talk about 
a poor duvil bein’ scared — I was nuver half 
so frightened in my life. Why, I wouldn’t 
be half so frightened on my way to the 
gallows. 

I was at length manoeuvred near the 
entrance to the main drawin’-room where 
Mrs. Bartholomew Tuft-Hunter, clad in 
demi-toilet raiment, had taken up her posi- 
tion. 

“ ^ How do you do, Dannie? ’ she says. 

^ And Mr. Dawn? ’ she says, receivin’ the 
lord’s nephew. ‘And Captain Koderick?’ 
she says, receivin’ the sucker par excellence 
of the fight. 

“ Wal — uvery thing in the room was one 
big blur. I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t 
hear anything, for the gib-gabbin’ of my 
fellow guests had grown to a deafenin’ up- 
roar. It was turrible. I expected to be shot 
down any minute; fact, I thought I beared 
all kinds of sharp military commands amid 
the crackin’ of musketry and the clashin’ of 
swords. 


266 


The Woman Hater 


^ Have a drink of Scotch, Captain? ^ some 
one whispered — it was Dannie, who had 
edged his way through the troops to the 
booze end of the festivities. ^ It’s Scotch, 
Captain,’ he says. 

^ Heaven bless you, my boy!’ I says, 
tightly clutchin’ the glass he placed in my 
hand, for I thought there was a fifty-six- 
pound weight attached to it. 

I managed to get it to my lips, howuver, 
and I absorbed that booze as quickly as if I 
had been a bucketful of dry sand. Ah, 
but it soaked into my parched soul, re- 
storin’ my sight, my bearin’, nay, my very 
senses! 

“ Gradually the outlines of three large 
rooms with foldin’ doors between them, be- 
gan to grow upon my sight, these rooms 
bein’ crowded to the utmost with jabberin’ 
guests — the women attired in ordinary street 
costume, hats, gloves, cetera; the men, h la 
mode. 

Lieutenant Puggaree was in clover — sur- 
rounded by an awkward squad of the 
daughters of Eve, each with a cup of tea in 
her hand, all lost in admiration of Puggaree’s 
new uniform. Captain Putty was there, too, 
with three or four other defenders of the 
country, each cornin’ in for a large share of 


High Life 267 

admiration from the unfair sex, all sippin’ 
tea. 

Unfair sex, I said; unfair sex, I repeat, 
for I thought I was at a choppin’ frolic — 
there were so many chips flyin’. One of the 
outfit thought the tea was too strong; an- 
other, that it was too weak; a third com- 
plained about the waiter standin’ on her 
feet; a fourth kicked because they had to 
stand up; a fifth, bein’ more or less pious, 
began takin’ chips off the bottle of whiskey 
on the handsomely decorated and generously 
laden table in the dinin’-room. 

“ ‘ Look at that whiskey,’ she says, ^ at an 
afternoon tea,’ she says. ^ I think it exceed- 
ingly bad taste,’ she says. 

^ I don’t agree with you,’ I says, wishin’ 
to stir up a row, ‘ although I haven’t been 
presented,’ I says, usin’ the slang of the 
game, ^ but I want to say right here,’ I 
says, ^ that the whiskey tastes all right,’ 
I says, ^ for if Mrs. Bartholomew Tuft- 
Hunter made the mistake of thinkin’ that 
those she invited wouldn’t all parade here at 
onct,’ I says, ^ she is a connoisseur of booze,’ 
I says. 

There was a look of disgust on Pug- 
garee’s face, and his number-ten feet must 
have been gettin’ uneasy in his Wellington 


268 


The Woman Hater 


boots, for his spurs began tinklin’. I was 
kind of afraid that he would turn rooster 
and make a drive at me with one of those 
spurs, for Dannie and Dawn were busy 
patronizin’ the grub end of the festivities — 
and right here I want to mention the fact 
that the proprietress of the bloodless battle- 
field didn’t go mean about the grub. Oysters, 
salids, boned turkey, ices, bonbons, cetera, 
were there in abundance and the two duvils 
that got me into the difficulty were more 
than helpin’ themselves. 

“Wal — when I see’d some of the guests 
movin’ out, I began to wonder when the fight 
was cornin’ off. Nearly all the women had 
gloves on, but I didn’t see any boxin’ gloves 
around, and the military looked far from 
bellicose. But I was too proud to give in 
and ask someone the exact minute the fight 
was to start until I happened to run across 
another old sucker who seemed to be takin’ 
things mighty cool. 

^ How do you like Mrs. Bartholomew 
Tuft-Hunter’s tea-fight? ’ he says. 

^^^Wal,’ I says, am gettin’ anxious for 
the fightin’ to begin.’ 

^ To begin? ’ he says. 

“ ^ Yes, to begin,’ I says. 

‘ Listen,’ he says. ‘ Listen to the ragin’ 


High Life 269 

of the bloodless battle/ he says, and I began 
to listen. 

‘ This tea is worse than dish water, ^ one 
purty creature remarked. 

^ I just beared Mamie Moonface sayin’ it 
was delicious,’ says another. 

“‘Wal,’ replied the first, ^ she’s easy, 
caterin’ to those climbers,’ she says. 

^^^Just look at that picture there,’ says 
Number Two. ^ I wonder whose it is.’ 

^ Mrs. Tuft-Hunter’s father,’ says Num- 
ber One. ‘ He looks like a common country 
farmer,’ she says. 

“ ‘ Take stock of the piano,’ says Number 
Two. 

^ Yes,’ says Number Three, watchin’ a 
chance to join in the attack, ‘it got all 
scratched cornin’ out of Noah’s ark.’ 

“ Then a fourth came gigglin’ through the 
crowd. ‘ Do you know the latest? ’ she says. 

No? ’ the trio chimed in. 

“ ‘ Miss Boobey is tryin’ to tumble off the 
shelf.’ 

“ ‘ Off the shelf? ’ they says. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ she says, ‘ she’s just daft on 
Lieutenant Puggaree,’ and they all laughed. 

Still the bloodless battle raged. The 
wounded made their way to the rear — I mean 
out of the house to the street — and fresh 


270 


The Woman Hater 


recruits kept arrivin^ all the time. The grub 
end was patronized, some tea was sipped, a 
shower of chips flew, and they moved to the 
rear, bearin^ wounds from the conflict. 

“ ^ Mr. Dawn,’ I says, tryin’ to attract the 
attention of the lord’s nephew, and the fellow 
elbowed his way through the crowd to where 
I was. 

^^^What do you think of it?’ I says. 

^ Bah, Jove,’ he says, ‘ I think it’s a de- 
cided success, don’t-cher-know,’ he says. 

^ A success? ’ I says. 

“ ^ Most decidedly,’ he says. 

“^What kind of a success?’ I says. 

^ Wal,’ he says, ‘ friends meet, have a 
friendly cup of tea, gossip a little, and go 
home.’ 

Dannie Donald the Bad Man appeared to 
see the point, but I couldn’t see the point, 
that is, if these young duvils thought that 
I could see any fun in those bloodless 
festivities. 

^ Let’s go,’ I says. 

‘ All right. Captain,’ they both said to- 
gether, and we elbowed our way through the 
crush to the entrance where Mrs. Tuft- 
Hunter was smilin’ and shakin’ hands with 
the recruits cornin’ in and with the wounded 
goin’ out. 


High Life 


271 


I wondered how she could look so 
pleasant if she beared half the nasty re- 
marks the unfair sex were makin^ about her, 
but then I thought that she had pro- 
tected her feelings by keepin^ the ear next 
the crowd stogged with cotton wool. That 
was my first fall from the grace of 
our rugged ancesters, my dear friend. I 
thought it would be the last, but I fell 
again.’^ 

Did you attend another of those abomi- 
nable affairs?” asked the disgusted news- 
paper man. 

Wal — no,” drawled the sea-devil, not 
exactly the same, but it was sufficiently bad 
to warrant me in countin^ it a fall, although 
I had more fun out of hittin^ my knees when 
I slipped the second time than I did the 
first time I fell. 

It was this way, you see. Dannie Don- 
ald the Bad Man was in his last year at 
college, and the students’ combine of all the 
colleges decided to give an At Home, I was 
invited, and so was George Dawn. I kicked 
like a mule at first, because the boys wanted 
me to wear swallow-tailed raiment — they 
might as well have asked me to wear a dress 
— but we finally compromised on a black 
suit, and I got ready to go. 


272 


The Woman Hater 


I took the precaution of havin’ some good 
Scotch whiskey within reach for fear my eyes 
might begin playin’ tricks on me again; fact, 
I had a flask in my breast pocket with a 
quill stickin’ out of the cork, so that all I 
had to do when I wanted a drink was to take 
the cap off the top of the quill and drink 
refreshments up against the dryness in my 
throat. 

Dawn took Mamie the Widow Billie the 
Gentleman, Dannie took Mary the Widow 
Captain John, the two widows took each 
other, and I swung along in the rear of the 
procession. The widows wanted me to walk 
between them, but ketch me walkin’ between 
two of those cussed creatures. Why, each 
would have grabbed me by the arm like the 
Widow Captain John did the day I took 
her to that formal dinner of infernal memory, 
and I didn’t want that. I made the excuse 
of wantin’ to smoke, and jogged along be- 
hind the outflt until we came to the college, 
which was ablaze with light. 

“We entered by the main door while the 
orchestra played TurTceif in the Straw. The 
cussed women were then taken to one dress- 
in’-room by a purty darn nice-lookin’ girl with 
the conventional long neck and bare arms, 
while a black-and-white spider invited us 


High Life 


27S 


into his temporary parlour for the purpose 
of gettin’ us to take off our coats. 

Wal — as soon as we were ready, we were 
handed over to another black-and-white 
spider who brought us into a room all dec- 
orated with different coloured cotton, palms, 
flowers, cetera, to where three women stood 
dishin^ out new hand-shakes. I felt my heart 
comin^ up into my throat as soon as I entered 
the room, so I had to get my mouth down to 
the quill and take a pull out of the flask. 
That settled my depression of spirits for the 
time bein’, and I looked fairly pleasant un- 
dergoin’ the new-hand-shake stunts which 
sent a cold chill down my back, necessitatin’ 
another pull at the quill, although I could 
nuver get on to what particular kind of game 
shakin’ hands with those women was. 

“ In the excitement of the moment, too, I 
didn’t notice that most of the women weren’t 
what I’d call decently dressed — such a collec- 
tion of bare arms and protrudin’ collar bones, 
I nuver see’d in all my life. I wouldn’t mind 
a particularly vain damsel doin’ a stunt of 
that kind for the purpose of showin’ a plump 
arm or a swan-like throat. 

“ But, heaven bless you. Bill Bones, the 
aggregation of arms looked like a graveyard 
after cornin’ to life! I thought Mamie and 


274 


The Woman Hater 


Mary were eligible for the asylum when I 
saw them leavin’ the house in the depth of 
winter with what looked like last summer’s 
dresses on, but then I thought that perhaps 
the poor girls couldn’t afford new raiment 
for the function par excellence of the season. 
But they were dressed. 

‘ What happened the women, Dannie? ’ 
I says to my protdgd 

“ ‘ What women? ’ he says. 

‘ The women that left some of their rai- 
ment at home,’ I says. 

‘ Oh,’ he says, ‘ they are in regulation 
full dress!’ he says. 

‘‘‘Full dress?’ I says. ‘Some of them 
aren’t what I’d call half dressed,’ I says, ‘ and 
I want to tell you right here that you and 
George Dawn had all kinds of gall to ask 
me to come to this collar-bone-and-elbow 
show. Look at that pompous old hen 
struttin’ over this way. If she thinks that 
three rows of beads and a gold bracelet are 
sufficient raiment for collar bones and 
bare arms in the depth of winter, she’s 
welcome to her idea of dressin’ decently,’ I 
says. 

“ Mad? But wasn’t I mad? I wasn’t only 
mad — I was disgusted, and I told George 
Dawn that if he thought the scene partic- 


High Life 


275 


ularly charmin’, I thought it about as charm- 
in’ as a flock of half-picked geese. I told the 
boys, too, that I had an idea of gettin’ out, 
but they told me that there would be lots of 
fun later on, so I took another pull out of 
my bottle and decided to await develop- 
ments. I thought a bunch of doctors and 
undertakers were back of the whole affair. 
It looked like that to me anyhow. 

‘‘Wal — when uverybody got his hand 
shaken in the most up-to-date manner, the 
orchestra adjourned to the dance-room up- 
stairs, and such dancin’ I nuver see’d in all 
my life. At one time it was whirl, whirl, 
whirl, to dreamy music; at another, it was 
1-2-3 and a kick, 1-2-3 and a kick, to DarJcey^s 
Dream. 

The whole thing was run accordin’ to 
schedule. Each black-and-white spider had 
a schedule, each set of collar bones and 
elbows had a schedule, the orchestra leader 
had a schedule, and you’d see nothing but 
fellows flittin’ back and forth makin’ dates 
for the next whirl, or the next 1-2-3 and a 
kick. 

It took about ten nips out of the flask 
to make me begin to see the funny side of 
the affair, and when I did, I had all kinds 
of amusement. Dannie Donald the Bad Man 


276 The Woman Hater 

and George Dawn did a little whirlin^ with 
Mamie and Mary Captain J ohn, bnt I noticed 
both of them were mighty subdued in that 
colossal exhibition of foolishness. 

After a while I got hold of Dannie, and 
we sat away from the crowd and took chips 
off the whole outfit. ^ Such a collection of 
collar bones and elbows,’ I says. ‘ You could 
turn the bunch into a museum,’ I says. 

‘ How would it be to turn on the water? ’ 
he says. 

<< ^ 1^11 give you a hundred dollars if you’ll 
turn the hose on the outfit,’ I says — a stunt 
easy of accomplishment, for the college had 
magnificent protection from fire. 

^ Make it a thousand and I’ll do it,’ he 
says. 

‘ Go ahead,’ I says, and only I held my 
hand over that little duvil’s mouth, he’d have 
sung out Fire and then turned the hose on 
the crowd. 

Just then the Widow Captain John came 
over and asked Dannie if he wouldn’t take 
poor Miss Boggs for a dance. ^ Why,’ she 
says, ^ she hadn’t one dance this evening. 
Come along and I’ll present you,’ she says. 

^ Where is she? ’ says Dannie, and I could 
see that the lad had his eyes wide open. 

‘ Over there,’ says my landlady. 


High Life 


277 


^ Do you see that purty girl with the 
pale-blue sash?^ she says. 

“ ^ In full dress? ^ he says. 

‘ Yes/ she says. 

^^‘Wal/ says Dannie, really don’t care 
to,’ he says. 

« < Why? ’ she says. 

^^‘Wal,’ he says, ^ if you press me for the 
reason,’ he says, right out from the shoulder, 
‘ it’s because I have more respect for myself 
than to dance with a girl who is so anxious 
to display her collar bones and elbows,’ he 
says. 

“ I could see that the Widow Captain John 
was half pleased and half mad; half pleased, 
because she had her eye on Dannie for a 
son-in-law; half mad, because he turned 
her proposition down so mighty unceremoni- 
ously. 

But if his prospective mother-in-law 
wasn’t wholly pleased, I was. ‘ Bully for 
you, Dannie,’ I says, givin’ him a vigorous 
slap between the shoulders. ^ I’m proud of 
you, my boy,’ I says, ^ for your heart is sound 
to the core.’ It was sound, too, old chap — 
sound right in to the seeds.” 

It’s a wonder women don’t go barefooted, 
or only wear sandals, at those functions. 
Captain.” 


278 


The Woman Hater 


^^What reason could they possibly have 
for such a cussed stunt, old pal?’’ 

A desire to exhibit pretty ankles,” Bones 
chuckled. 

My dear fellow,” said the sea-dog, you 
are a dangerous person to have at large. 
One hint from you on the subject, in the 
columns of The New York Thunderer^ would 
make bare feet the vogue for the next half 
century. The bare-head-for-women craze was 
likely started in a similar way. You should 
get ten years with hard labour for even hint- 
in’ at such a thing. But to continue my 
story: cornin’ on one o’clock, we fed our- 
selves, and shortly afterwards, the cussed 
widows decided to go home. I wasn’t sorry, 
for I was sick of what they call high life.” 

^‘And that’s high life!” 

That’s high life. Bones, old pal. Tea- 
fights, bloodless battlefields, new hand-shak- 
in’ to rag-time music, 1-2-3 and a kick, black- 
and-white spiders, swallow-tail raiment, col- 
lar bones and elbows — bah! Those cussed 
women! ” 

“ Those cussed daughters of mother Eve! ” 
echoed The Thunderer’s irrepressible, who had 
begun to absorb some of the smuggler’s prej- 
udice against the gentle sex. 


CHAPTEE XVL 


THE HOME STRETCH. 

Next morning, Mr. Bones planned to leave 
Big Frog Pond, but before going he was 
anxious to know how Mamie Widow Billie 
the Gentleman fared with George Dawn. 

With the lord^s nephew? ” 

Yes, Captain,’’ The Thunderer assented, 
pulling hard at his pipe. 

Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, you are cer- 
tainly bound to pump me out before you go, 
but I am nuver loath to respond to the 
pump-handle when it’s a question of Mamie 
and George Dawn. You see I had both of 
those love-sick creatures completely under 
my thumb. 

If Mamie got cuttin’ up any of her 
daughter-of-Eve shines, all I had to do was 
to threaten to tell George Dawn about the 
dancin’ lessons, and she’d go down into her 
boots just the same as if she was hit on the 
head with a sledge. 

As for poor Dawn, all I had to do was to 

279 


280 The Woman Hater 

produce the bottle of potassium cyanide 
whenuver he got threatenin’ to do any stunts 
that didn’t meet with my approval. The 
suspense was dreadful for both of those poor 
duvils, but they had implicit confidence in 
me, and each let me play the game. 

I told Mamie I’d land the lord’s nephew 
for her as sure as she was a foot high, if she 
only did what I told her, and I told Dawn 
that I’d head off the wealthy New York saw- 
bones if I had to go all the way down there 
with a shot-gun. And both enjoyed the bliss- 
ful agony of suspense! 

But a couple of days before Dannie Don- 
ald the Bad Man was ready to be admitted 
to the Bar of Nova Scotia, I told George 
Dawn it was about time for him to get busy 
— that Mamie promised the New York saw’- 
bones an answer the next day — and I told 
him that I considered he was justified in 
askin’ Mamie if she’d be foolish enough to 
hitch up with him, if that’s the slang of the 
game, and the poor duvil began w’alkin’ 
about a foot above the ground. 

^ Don’t be too sure. Dawn,’ I says, ^ for 
although Mamie is a purty darn nice girl, 
she’s a daughter of Eve,’ I says, ‘ and then 
there’s that wealthy New York saw-bones,’ 
I says. But still he was jubilant. ^ Remem- 


The Home Stretch 


281 


her the faithless English girl, George,’ I 
says, ^ and don’t pin too much faith to the 
cussed sex,’ I says. But he only laughed. 
^ All right,’ I says, ^ if you get turned down, 
you’ll only have yourself to blame for it.’ 

Nothing could dampen the ardour of the 
lord’s nephew who went down to a jeweller’s 
and had the ring the English girl throwed 
back in his face cut a size smaller — it took 
him three weeks to get the size of Mamie’s 
engagement finger, howuver he got it, I don’t 
know. But that is make no difference. 
When he came back I noticed he wasn’t quite 
so jubilant. 

^ Bah, Jove, Captain,’ he says, ^ I wonder 
if there’s bad luck followin’ this ring,’ he 
says. 

^^^Bad luck?’ I says. ^Go ’way, boy,’ I 
says. ‘ It wasn’t the ring that was at fault. 
It was the heart of that cussed girl,’ I says. 

^ I guess you’re right there. Captain,’ he 
says. 

Wal — after dinner that day, I told Mamie 
that Dawn was cornin’ up to the house that 
night, and I advised her to be dressed in the 
best clothes she had to the world. ^ For if 
you don’t get the fellow to bite to-night,’ I 
says, ^ he may nuver be so near bitin’ again,’ 
I says. 


282 


The Woman Hater 


^^More than that, Bill Bones, I told Her 
about the imaginary rival Dawn had in the 
wealthy New York doctor, and she nearly 
bu’sted her sides laughin^ Poor, foolish, 
little creature! She was as happy over the 
whole performance as if she was just goin^ 
to be sentenced to paradise for all eternity. 

^ Now that you know all, Mamie,’ I says, 
^it is up to you to play your cards right,’ I 
says. ^ But remember that George Dawn 
has blue blood in his veins and you are only 
a poor Cape Breton girl,’ I says, ^ so for your 
own future peace and happiness, make the 
blawsted Englishman come all the ways,’ I 
says. ‘ You will then be priceless in his 
eyes, on general principles,’ I says, ‘ for that 
only is worth havin’ which costs an effort to 
get,’ I says. 

^ I’m so grateful for your kindness,’ she 
says, tears spillin’ down over her face, for 
it’s truly wonderful, my dear William, how 
quickly those cussed women can turn on the 
water in their eyes! 

How did the poor little girl get along? ” 
asked the guest. 

“ Wal,” drawled the host, “ she more than 
got along.” 

I am glad to hear it. Captain.” 

I was out that evening, and I didn’t get 


The Home Stretch 


283 


home until nearly one o’clock. But Mamie 
sat up waitin’ to give me the news, and when 
I came in she met me at the door, her face 
spillin’ over with happiness. 

^^^How did you fare, Mamie?’ I says, 
knowin’ well enough by the look on 
her face, that she had landed the lord’s 
nephew. 

^^^Fare, Captain?’ she says. ^ Look at 
that,’ she says, holdin’ up her engagement 
finger on which Dawn’s engagement ring 
glistened. 

It was a beauty, too, for it cost Dawn 
fifty-six pounds sterling, and it shone like 
the evening star, but bright as it was, it was 
nothing to the light that shone in Mamie’s 
eyes. 

“ ^ Tell us all about it, Mamie,’ I says. 

“^Will you promise nuver to tell?’ she 
says. 

“ ^ Nuver mind your darn nonsense,’ I says. 
‘ Give us the whole story,’ I says, for I 
know’d well enough that she was just dyin’ 
to tell me. 

Wal — it appears the lord’s nephew called 
at the conventional hour, all brushed and 
shaved and oil of roses. Mamie’s mother met 
him at the door and escorted him in to the 
parlour where the expectant girl sat readin’. 


284 


The Woman Hater 


She looked surprised, of course, and glad, too, 
I suppose, and she was a trifle queenly, which 
made George feel anything but at ease. 

Things went very pleasantly, and, as 
usual. Dawn asked Mamie to sing. Of 
course, she sang, for that was part of the 
game, and the cunnin’ little duvil selected a 
song that was supposed to be addressed by a 
girl to a lover she could only love in paradise. 
^ I can only love you,’ she sang sweetly, ‘ in 
eternity — in e-ter-nity!’ 

That made George dizzy. ^ Bah, Jove,’ 
he says, ^that’s an exquisite song, and you 
interpreted its beauties like a nightingale,’ 
he says. 

“ ^ Oh, Mr. Dawn! ’ says Mamie. 

‘And do you know what? ’ he says, stam- 
merin’ along. 

“ ‘ What’s that? ’ Mamie asked. 

“‘What a blessed thing it would be for 
me to hope that you’d even love me in 
eternity,’ he says, ‘ for I love you, dearest,’ 
he added, bu’stin’ into poetry, ‘ with a man’s 
true love! ’ 

“ Wal — that was Dawn’s first bite. Mamie 
blushed, sighed, looked down at her locket, 
but said nothing. Wasn’t she a star actress, 
old chap, when she had all she could do to 
keep from jumpin’ down Dawn’s throat 


The Home Stretch 


285 


But she only looked into Dawn’s light blue 
eyes, coughin’ up a second sigh which set the 
lord’s nephew crazy. 

^ Mamie,’ he says. 

‘ Oh, George, George,’ she says, ^ why did 
you say that?’ she says, grabbin’ the locket. 

Because I love you so,’ says Dawn. 
Vust say that I may hope,’ he says, Hhat 
some day ^ 

^ How can I answer you? ’ she says. 
^ How can I say ’ 

^ Oh, do not say no,’ he cried. ^ Will you 
not take time to adjudicate upon the mat- 
ter?’ he says, as she still held on to the 
locket. ^ Do not shut off all hope? ’ he says. 
^Let me still hope,’ he says. 

“ ^ Do you really love me?’ she says. 

‘ Love you, dearest? ’ he says. ^ Yes,’ he 
says, ^ better than my life,’ he says. 

She then opened the locket, took out the 
picture of the wealthy New York saw- 
bones — a card with the price of the locket 
marked on it — Dawn swore that he had side- 
whiskers — and she looked at the picture 
fondly. 

^ Wealth, influence, social position, in one 
of the greatest cities in the world,’ she says, 
tearin’ the picture up and closin’ the locket, 
^ or love and happiness with a poor boy,’ she 


286 


The Woman Hater 


says, holdin’ out both hands to Dawn, who 
grabbed them like a drownin’ man. 

^ With me? ’ he gasped. 

* With you,’ she says, ^ for I love you 
best of all,’ she says. 

‘ And then? ’ I says. 

“ ^ Dawn kissed me,’ she says. ^ But don’t 
you tell. Captain,’ she says. 

^ Only onct? ’ I says. ‘ For,’ I says, ^ I’d 
take George to be quite a kissin’-bug if he 
got started,’ I says. 

^ Wal,’ she says, ^ he kissed me more than 
onct,’ she says. 

“ ^ That’s what I’d expect,’ I says. ^ Then 
George placed this ring on my finger,’ she 
says, ‘ and made me the happiest girl in the 
whole world.’ 

^ Wal — Mamie,’ I says, ^ I don’t think you 
used George Dawn square,’ I says. 

^ How? ’ she says, bristlin’ up consider- 
ably. 

‘‘‘Wal,’ I says, ‘you gaffed the wretched 
fellow in the heart and then dragged him 
around the whole room, spillin’ the poor 
duvil’s heart’s blood all over the furniture,’ 
I says. 

“ ‘ Didn’t you tell me to make him come all 
the way? ’ she says. 


The Home Stretch 


287 


^ Wal— yes/ I says, ^ but I didn^t expect 
you to prolong the agony beyond reason/ I 
says. ^ Couldn’t you close the bargain with- 
out all that manoeuvrin’ ? ’ I says. 

“ ‘ With less blissful agony? ’ she says. 

^ Wal,’ I says, ‘ I am absolutely disgusted, 
Mamie,’ I says. But the happy girl only 
laughed in my face. ^ Did your mother ap- 
pear on the scene with the usual feed for 
Dawn?’ I says. 

^ Yes/ she says, ^ mamma brought him a 
delicious lunch before I began to sing/ she 
says. 

^^^Wal/ I says, that’s what I call jiggin’ 
a poor duvil by the appetite and then coaxin’ 
him to bite with a song,’ I says, for it’s those 
cussed women, my dear Bones ! They’re such 
schemers! ^Be true to him, Mamie/ I says, 
^ even though you didn’t ketch him altogether 
fair,’ I says. 

‘ All is fair,’ she says, ‘ in love ’ 

But not wishin’ to listen to any more of 
that kind of rot, I made a bee-line for my 
room. 

Next day, Dannie Donald the Bad Man 
was admitted to the Bar of Nova Scotia, and 
before he became a full-fledged disciple of 
Satan, I took him to one side and gave him 
some good advice. 


288 


The Woman Hater 


^ See here, Dannie,’ I says, ^ I have one 
thing I want you to promise me,’ I says. 

^ I’ll promise you anything. Captain,’ he 
says, ‘ for you were mighty good to me,’ he 
says. 

^ Wal,’ I says, ^ you were practisin’ long 
enough before the Bar of Booze,’ I says, ^ and 
now that you are about to begin practisin’ 
before the Bar of Nova Scotia,’ I says, ‘ I 
want you to cut out the booze end of your 
practise,’ I says. 

^^^ But I’ll have to set up the drinks for 
the boys after I am admitted to-day,’ he says. 

^ Leave that to me,’ I says, ^ and I’ll 
warrant you I’ll give the boys something 
in the booze line they’ll not soon forget,’ I 
says. 

“ ^ All right,’ he says. 

<^'Wal,’ I says, 'I want you to give me 
your word of honour as my protdgd that you 
will not taste any kind of booze, includin’ 
ale, porter, cetera, for a period of twenty 
years,’ I says. 

' I give you my word of honour,’ he says, 

‘ but mighty reluctantly,’ he says, ' for I do 
really enjoy an occasional drink,’ he says. 

‘ No more booze for twenty years,’ I 
says. 

^ All right,’ he says, so we preceded to 


The Home Stretch 


289 


the court-house where Dannie Donald the 
Duvil was made a full-fledged disciple before 
a bench full of lordships, one of whom praised 
Dannie up so high that I could see the fellow 
expandin’ his chest. 

“ After the performance was over, and 
after Dannie was sworn in and had signed 
the Barristers’ Roll, I told him to duck out 
of sight — that I was goin’ to take charge of 
his loiterin’ bunch of thirsty admirers whom 
I led down to the bar of the Bluenose Hotel. 

“ ^ What’ll you’s have? ’ I says. 

Some ordered champagne, others 
whiskey, others gin, but they all got cold 
water, which cost me flve dollars, that 
amount having gone to the bar-tender in 
advance. 

‘ Dannie’s on a twenty-year keg,’ I says, 
<so you’ll have to drink to his health from 
the city waterworks,’ I says, and there was 
a general laugh all around. ^ But I’m on the 
bar-room floor,’ I says, ‘ so if you’ll repeat 
your orders,’ I says, ‘ I’ll see that they’re 
fllled,’ and we had a round of booze over the 
joke. 

“ When I got back to my office, Dannie was 
ahead of me, and I advised him to lose no 
time in proposin’ to Mary Captain John. 
‘You will have to paddle your own canoe 


290 


The Woman Hater 


from this on/ I says, ^ and yon might as well 
settle down at onct,’ I says. ^ Pm goin’ to 
cut the tow-line,^ I says. 

“The poor little duvil was kind of dis- 
couraged over prospects. ‘ Do you know 
what?’ he says. ‘ I think I made a mistake 
studyin’ law/ he says. “I think I should 
have studied medicine,’ he says. 

“ If he slapped me on the face. I’d be less 
surprised. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ I says, ^ I’d like to see you gettin’ 
up a cold night in winter and drivin’ ten 
miles in a snowstorm to see a sick child,’ I 
says, ^ and when you’d get to the house, you’d 
find that the kid only had a fit of bad temper,’ 
I says. 

“ ‘ I’d charge just the same,’ he says. 

“ ^ Yes,’ I says, ‘ and you’d get paid in the 
neck.’ 

“‘Wal/ he says, ^it’s purty darn tough 
to lose a case on a poor client who would 
have to pay the costs of both sides, with 
what should go to support his wife and little 
children/ he says. 

“ ^ But if you were a doctor you’d probably 
kill the clients,’ I says, ^ and then the widows 
and orphans would have undertakers’ bills 
to pay in addition to your fees as execu- 
tioner/ I says. ‘Propose to Mary Captain 


The Home Stretch 


291 


John/ I says, ^ and settle down,’ I says, ^ for 
if the worst comes to the worst, I don’t mind 
helpin’ you out a little now and then,’ I says. 

“ Wal — about eight o’clock that evening, I 
beared talkin’ on the verandah. It was Dan- 
nie and Mary. Dannie was fairly goin’ into 
ecstacies over Mary’s golden hair and her 
beautiful blue eyes and her pearly teeth, and 
Mary was purrin’ like a good-natured kitten. 

^ Good luck to you, my boy,’ I says to my- 
self as I listened to what was goin’ on from 
the parlour window. 

“ ‘ I suppose you would rather marry a 
wealthy fellow with a good home and social 
position?’ says Dannie, for a starter. 

“ ^ No,’ says Mary, ‘ I’d rather marry a 
young man strugglin’ in the world, for then 
he’d take an interest in his home, and it 
would be easier to help him and make him 
happy,’ she says. 

Wal — I nearly broke up the game by 
hurrahin’ out ’loud. I nuver had such a hard 
job to hold on to my tongue. 

^ But,’ says Mary, ^ I suppose you would 
rather marry a girl with wealth than a poor 
girl? ’ she says. 

« < Why, of course,’ he says, and Mary hove 
a sigh that must have come from her boots. 
Dannie caught right on. ‘A girl with a 


292 


The Woman Hater 


wealth of golden hair/ he says, ^ and a heart 
that is true,’ he says. ^ Wouldn’t it be great 
fun to be engaged? ’ he says. 

^ Wouldn’t it? ’ says Mary. 

^ Then let’s get engaged,’ he says. 

^ All right,’ she says, and they settled 
the difficulty then and there without any 
rubbish about love’s own sake, cetera, al- 
though poor Dannie’s arm turned thief and 
stole around the back of Mary’s chair. 

“ Just then I came on the scene, and broke 
up the picnic. Mary blushed, and shot into 
the house, and Dannie looked as happy as if 
he had been paradin’ the streets of paradise. 

‘ So you got her? ’ I says. 

^ Yes,’ he says. ^ She’s mine/ he says. 
‘And do you know what?’ he says. 

“ ‘ What’s that? ’ I says. 

“ ‘ I wish you would only take a notion to 
hitch up with the old hen,’ he says. 

“ ‘ What old hen? ’ I says. 

“ ‘ Mary’s mother,’ he says. 

“ ‘ Wal — Dannie,’ I says, ‘ you’ll do,’ I says, 
‘ for any fellow that will start in takin’ chips 
off his prospective mother-in-law inside of 
five minutes after gettin’ engaged to her 
daughter is all right/ I says. ‘But as for 
marryin’ the old dame herself,’ I says, ‘ I’d 
just as lief commit suicide,’ I says. 


The Home Stretch 


293 


“ ^ One kiss from the old girl would make 
your heart flutter/ he says, intoxicated with 
the game. 

“ ‘ Wal,^ I says, ‘ Fd rather get a bite from 
an alligator. Of course,’ I says, ‘ I don’t dis- 
like the old dame at all, for she’s a mighty 
good housekeeper, but she’s a daughter of 
Eve like the rest of the cussed sex, Dannie/ 
I says, and he bu’sted out laughin’. ‘ I be- 
lieve in keepin’ them on their own side of the 
fence,’ I says. ‘ I have seen all kinds of looks 
on the human face,’ I says. ‘ I can stand 
the endorse-a-note look, the lend-me-flve-dol- 
lars look, the give-me-a-quarter look, but I 
can’t stand the makin’s-of-a-good-home look 
of convetousness in the old hen’s eyes/ I 
says, ‘ for she’s a typical daughter of Eve, 
and her place is on the side of the fence facin’ 
the kitchen,’ I says, ‘ so don’t talk any more 
about that kind of nonsense to me, Dannie, 
for you might get yourself disliked/ I says. 

Wal — there was weepin’ and gnashin’ of 
teeth the next day when I sent Dannie Don- 
ald the Duvil to Sydney for three months— 
Mary did the weepin’, while Dannie kept his 
teeth busy, thinkin’ he was a badly used boy. 
I soon had another pair of eyes weepin’ and 
another set of teeth gnashin’ when I got 
the General Manager of the Federal Bank 


294 


The Woman Hater 


to send George Dawn to Charlottetown for 
a few months. 

Of course, the whole outfit know’d well 
enough that I was at the bottom of the 
trouble, and they were quite sore about it. 
I didn’t say nothing, for I was on the home 
stretch. I bought a couple of lots of land on 
Paradise Row and built two houses, each 
costin’ six thousand. I then furnished each 
exactly alike, and began organizin’ the Cape 
Breton Loan Company with a capital of five 
hundred thousand dollars. 

^^As soon as I got the new company 
organized, I sent for Dannie and George, 
makin’ Dannie chief solicitor and first vice- 
president at two thousand dollars a year, 
and Dawn secretary-treasurer and chief ac- 
countant at two thousand a year. I retained 
the position of president and managing 
director myself, although I intended to let 
the boys run the business. 

‘ Now, get hitched up at onct,’ I says, 
and there was joy in Halifax for two love- 
sick couples. 

They did hitch up, old pal, and the very 
day they were married I took them around 
to Paradise Row. ‘ Here’s a nest for each 
pair,’ I says. 

Their delight was simply boundless, al- 


The Home Stretch 


295 


though they didn^t quite ketch on to my idea 
of a lease from year to year at a dollar a 
year with a clause for cancellation on one 
month^s notice.” 

“What was your idea, Captain?” asked 
the parting guest. 

“ Wal,” drawled the sea-dog, “ I was afraid 
that if I gave a deed that those cussed 
women would get jealous of each other and 
would begin fightin^ I had each house built 
and furnished exactly alike, but then per- 
haps Mamie would begin puttin^ on the airs 
of a prospective Lady Bismuth, and perhaps 
she would start in throwin^ up to Mary Cap- 
tain John that she only got a son of old Don- 
ald the Bad Man after all — you know I 
wouldn^t put anything past her after the gag 
about those dancin’ lessons. Mary wouldn’t 
say anything, but she would tell Dannie, and 
then I see where the Cape Breton Loan Com- 
pany would drop into the hands of a receiver 
inside of a couple of months.” 

“ How?” 

“Wal,” Captain Roderick declared, “the 
fight would extend from the back yards of 
the twin houses to the offices of the loan com- 
pany, then good-bye rabbit! It’s those wo- 
men, my dear old Bones! ” 

“ It’s those women ! ” repeated The Thun- 


296 


The Woman Hater 


derer. Those cussed daughters of the hu- 
man race! ” 

UENVOIE. 

The day before Thanksgiving, a handsome, 
ruddy-cheeked, distinguished-looking man en- 
tered the editorial rooms of The New York 
Thunderer, No one recognized him. 

Chief in?’^ he asked. 

Yes, sir,^’ someone answered. 

Bones crossed over to the editor’s sanctum, 
and entered it unceremoniously. 

Good-morning, Chief,” he said pleasantly, 
extending his hand. 

Good-morning,” said the great editor. 
^^Be seated, please. Anything I can do for 
you?” 

Bones roared out laughing. 

Is that you. Bill Bones? Give us another 
shake of your hand, old chap. I didn’t know 
you at all, you’ve changed so much. You’re 
looking mighty well, my dear fellow. How 
are you feeling? ” 

“ Splendidly, thank you,” said Bones. 
“ Gained fifty-seven pounds in two months. 
Had the time of my life. Glorious weather, 
glorious scenery, and one of the greatest 
characters that ever lived for my com- 
panion.” 


The Home Stretch 


297 


I see you ran across more than health up 
there in Cape Breton, old chap. I am de- 
lighted with your work, and I may as well 
tell you now that a promotion and a very 
substantial increase in salary will be yours 
in a couple of days.’’ 

“Thank you very much,” said Bones. 

That evening. Captain Roderick received 
the following telegram: 

“ Arrived safely. Feeling splendidly. If 
you decide to run for a seat in the Canadian 
house of commons at any time, do not forget 
to let me know. Deeply grateful for all your 
kindness. Best wishes, 

“ Bill Bones.” 

“ That telegram contains a very sassy sug- 
gestion about goin’ into federal politics,” the 
smuggler whispered to himself, after he had 
read it over two or three times. “ Isn’t he a 
bad actor to put such a very wicked idea into 
my head? . . . House of Commons, Ottawa. 

. • . Dear old Bones!” 



A COLONEL FROM WYOMING 

BT 

JOHN ALEXANDER HUGH CAMERON 


12mo CLOTH $1.25 


If Mr. Cameron should never write anything more, this work 
alone would make him famous. . . . His book embodies all the 
elements of a great story— high ideals, a graceful style, exquisite 
bits of word-painting, plenty of local colour, plot, action, incident, 
pathos, and above all, humour— a humour that is fresh, and rich, 
and rare.”— ifi. Reo, Alexander Macdonald, D. D., Ph. 2>., Bishop of 
Victoria, 

“ I heartily commend the book to all. It has none of the trashy 
modern swash about it, and its perusal will give no suggestion to 
our young readers other than wholesome, strong, and manly mental 
purity.”— TAe late Hon. D. C. P'raser, LL.D., D. C. L., Lieutenant- 
Governor of Nova Scotia. 

“ The characters are Avell conceived and skillfully drawn. * . . 
Many of the scenes are graphic, deeply pathetic, and richly laden 
with the half-hidden, half-revealed moral purpose that lends its 
true worth to a story. . . . The strokes of humour are often de- 
licious. Young Cameron is a genius .”— Presbyterian Witness. 

“ A charming story. . . . Some fine humour pervades the vol- 
ume. . . . The story Is a delight from beginning to end.”— 
Nashville American, Nashville Tennessee. 

“ Unique characters are portrayed cleverly .”— Grand 
Rapids, Michigan. 

“ A well-written romance with strong characters.”— Piffsftwrg Ob- 
server. 

“ Destined to take high rank among popular works of fiction.”— TA€ 
Casket. 

“ Full of movement and humour. . . . The numerous charac- 
ters are inimitably drawn.”— YAe Sydney Record. 

‘‘ Sketches of life and character . . . are vivid and lifelike.”— 
New York Times. 

“There is some excellent character drawing in the novel.”— TVitf 
Globe, Toronto. 

“ Mr. Camei’on has presented some new and interesting pictures 
. . . and has drawn some admirable characters.”— Plain Dealer, 
Cleveland, 0. 

“ It cannot be said that the stor 3 '^ lags, for it is filled with action 
from first to last.”— /Sf. Louis Republic, St. Louis, Mo. 

“ Of the distinctly healthy type.”— Liverpool, England. 

“ A valuable addition to our steadily growing Canadian litera- 
ture.”— PA<? d/an’s Magazine, Toronto. 

“Mr. Cameron sketches charmingly many delightful characters. 

. . . ■ A Colonel from Wyoming ’ is really valuable as a collection 

of pen-pictures of a peculiar people. ’’—7’Ae Daily World, Vancouver, 
B. C. 

“Of real value.”— il/amYo&a Free Press, Winnipeg. 

“ Brisk, humorous, and adventurous.”— Poranfa News. 

“ Replete with interest and plot.”— Winnipeg Telegram. 



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